


Under the Shadow of This Red Rock

by eponymmouse



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Always-a-girl!Kirk - Freeform, Exhaustion, F/M, Fem!Kirk, Friendship, Gen, Post-Narada, Rumors, Vulcans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-03
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-18 02:20:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1411354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eponymmouse/pseuds/eponymmouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Only a few days have passed since Nero destroyed Vulcan and attacked Earth, but the world around Jen and Spock is already changing along strange new lines—and they are caught right in the middle. Neither of them really has their shit together, but between the two of them they’re making it work. The ship’s still running. They haven’t tried to kill each other again. It’s a start.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under the Shadow of This Red Rock

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my amazing beta readers: [agedsolarwhisk](http://archiveofourown.org/users/agedsolarwhisk/pseuds/agedsolarwhisk), my co-conspirator whose help and encouragement I couldn't do without, and [museaway](http://archiveofourown.org/users/museaway), who kindly agreed to look over the story and did an awesome proofreading job. Three cheers for you, ladies! Any remaining mistakes are, of course, mine.

“At this rate, we’ll limp to Starbase 411 right in time for my fiftieth birthday,” Jen says, running a hand over her face as she leans back in her chair. 

Spock, predictably, frowns. 

“Captain, I cannot see what can be gained by the use of such blatant exaggeration. At current speed, it will take us three months at most.” 

 _“Three months,”_ Jen emphasizes, and slumps with her elbows on the desk in front of the computer terminal. She stares at the numbers on the screen in the vain hope that they’ll change to something more palatable. “I’m not sure we can even stay afloat for three months, Spock.” 

“Unfortunately, I am forced to agree with your assessment,” Spock says after a beat, because he’s a regular ray of sunshine on the best of days, and today is definitely not one of those. 

Defeating Nero was only half the job; now they’re facing the daunting task of returning the Enterprise to Earth in one piece, and if the figures they’re seeing are any indication, they’ll need a minor miracle to pull that off. It’s not even that they require a new warp core; they can get a replacement at the nearest space station, and they’re home free if they make it there. But the Enterprise has taken a severe beating, and the impulse engines are coughing and rumbling in a menacing fashion. Not to mention all the other systems that give out pretty much every hour on the hour, always in new and increasingly alarming ways. 

Scotty says he needs more. More men, more power, more materials that they don’t have for repairs they cannot feasibly do on the fly, but will have to perform anyway. 

“I am about to make myself some herbal tea,” Spock announces, getting up from his seat next to Jen. “Do you wish for a refreshment, Captain?” 

He doesn’t even seem to find that question strange anymore, which says volumes about the amount of hours they’ve recently clocked in close proximity, trying to solve problem after problem in between shifts that bleed into each other, screwing with Jen’s sense of time. It feels like Vulcan was destroyed a lifetime ago, like she and Spock have been running around the ship forever, like they’ve always holed up in his quarters to hash out the issues they didn’t want to argue about in public. For the two of them, the action has not let up since they blasted Nero through the black hole two—three?—sleepless days ago, and, properly speaking, neither of them should even be cleared for duty. Especially not Spock, who has to be in some Vulcan version of shock after losing his mother and his _planet_ and the world as he’s always known it. 

“Coffee, please,” Jen says, rubbing her eyes. “How are the… your father, the Vulcans? Do they need anything?” 

Since being beamed aboard the Enterprise from various escape shuttles, the Vulcans have closed in on themselves, surrounded by a wall of stoic grief. They’ve turned away any human who might have come too close and witnessed an unseemly display of emotion. They’ve been assigned quarters where possible and ended up forming something of an enclave few crewmembers—save for medical staff—ever enter. And even the doctors and nurses aren’t too welcome, if Bones’s complaints are to be believed. 

Spock is the only one who inhabits both worlds. Jen understands this is the usual state of affairs for him. 

Spock’s spine goes rigidly straight at her question. “They are as well as can be, considering.” 

“You _will_ tell me if any issue comes up, or if there’s anything more we can do?” Jen asks. 

Spock just stares at her, stony. 

Spock is great at sharing. 

“Listen, I’m not looking for gossip,” Jen says, spreading her hands in a peaceful gesture. She holds his gaze, though, not backing down. “What I’m asking is, _let me know if anything is wrong._ That’s it. Come on, we’ve had this conversation before.” 

“There is nothing you could help with,” Spock says, and turns back around. 

Jen blows out a breath. “Okay. That’s… all I wanted to know.” 

She watches him punch in the order on the replicator with a bit more force than necessary. 

“This is your third caffeinated beverage in as many hours,” Spock says, still in that vaguely aggressive tone. “I find myself questioning the wisdom of your actions.” 

“Yes, well, I’d love to have it plugged directly into my veins, but—” 

Spock’s eyes flash as he thrusts the coffee into her hands, keeping a cup of herbal tea for himself. “Your attempts at humor are not appreciated.” 

“Of course not,” Jen mutters and takes a sip from her mug. On the bright side, sometime between their first emergency meeting and now, Spock has learnt to make coffee the way she likes it. “Well, it’s an hour till our shift. How about we get to this—” She nods at the screen. “—and try to reroute some personnel to repairs? I mean, the more the merrier, right?”

Spock looks like he’d rather be anywhere else, doing anything else—though not sleeping, of course, because sleep is for the weak and for those who don’t fear being alone with their thoughts. But he nods, bland, and takes his usual seat next to Jen at the computer terminal. 

They work in relative peace until Spock gets a call from the astrophysics lab, where the computers have apparently staged a revolt. He departs for his science domain immediately and Jen realizes that, hey, it’s time to report for alpha shift anyway. 

The moment she arrives in the command centre, Chekov gives her a sunny smile. 

“Keptin on the bridge!” he announces, and she grins back, unable to help the warm flush the words bring. 

Of course, she’s not the real captain, Pike is, but such little details tend to fall by the wayside in the wake of massive battles that result in destroyed planets. 

Besides, Pike has all but given her his blessing; that is, upon making it to the Enterprise post-rescue, he authorized Jen to carry on as acting captain and put Spock as her XO and then promptly keeled over before he even made it to sick bay.   

Bones has assured Jen it’s all completely normal—that it’s a miracle Pike had been conscious at all when she’d found him, that he’d been running on adrenaline and sheer bloody-mindedness. _Goddamn it, Jen, his brain was near well fried,_ Bones said, always knowing how to put a worried person at ease. _The coma is the best thing for him right now._  

Which, well. Jen would like to share Bones’s confidence. 

“Report, Mr. Sulu,” she orders on her way to the captain’s chair. 

Jen listens with half an ear as she sorts through the messages on her PADD, mentally ranking them by order of urgency. 

Luckily, Uhura does a brilliant job of filtering out much unnecessary communication, making sure only the most relevant stuff gets to Jen. Usually, this means the difference between 55 and 155 reports, so Jen appreciates the help. 

“Captain,” Uhura speaks up, right on cue. The word lacks the mocking inflection it carried just two days ago. “A high priority transmission from Starfleet.” 

“Let me guess,” Jen says. “Admiral Barnett has more pearls of wisdom to share.” 

Sulu snorts from his console, while Uhura bristles. 

“Forward it to my PADD, Lieutenant,” Jen says, resigned. 

The brass back on Earth are having a conniption about what’s going on with the Enterprise. Quite apart from everything else that is horribly wrong with the world right now, they seem to owe their salvation to a team of cadets headed by a young, blonde, _female_ captain who shouldn’t even be on the ship. They don’t know how to talk to her, they don’t know where to begin asking questions, and there’s no one higher than her they can turn to, because Pike won’t be up for chatting for a while. 

Jen would sympathize with them if it weren’t for the fact that she doesn’t have time for this shit _,_ and none of this is her fault. 

She’s almost happy when a comm call from Bones breaks the tedium of paperwork. 

“We’ve got a situation here,” he says, and she can vaguely discern med bay noises in the background. “You’d better come down.” 

“On my way.” Jen puts away a report on the number of casualties in the engineering department and glances around the bridge. “Sulu, you have the conn.” 

She hopes that, whatever the new emergency in sick bay, it’s not going to be of the life-threatening kind. 

She’s not expecting to see her First Officer and CMO glaring daggers at each other as several injured ensigns look between them in fascination. 

“Spock, Bones. What’s up?” Jen asks, taking a cursory assessment of the infirmary. 

Every single bed is taken, casualties crowding the space to the limit. There are more patients out there, she’s aware; all the guest quarters have been commandeered for the Vulcan refugees, and even conference rooms are used as temporary living space. During Nero’s attack, every area of the Enterprise came under fire, the crew’s quarters included. The Enterprise was never meant to carry this many people, but then—nothing about this situation falls anywhere in the vicinity of standard. 

And somewhere behind one of those closed doors in med bay, Captain Pike is lying in a biobed, hooked to machines… 

“Doctor, it should be evident to a man in possession of a medical degree that I do not, in fact, require treatment,” Spock says. He’s obviously still laboring under the delusion that intimidation tactics work on Bones. 

“Every goddamn person on this goddamn ship requires treatment,” Bones barks in reply, a scowl on his features. “I’d have kept you here if I had any space to spare, but as it is, you’re free to go and run yourself into the ground some more.” 

“What happened?” Jen cuts in, before Spock has time to snark back. 

Turns out, Spock got caught in the middle of an exploding corridor near the biochemistry lab, and the injured ensigns were also unlucky enough to be present at the time. 

During Spock’s explanation, Bones tries to turn on Jen with a tricorder, and she’s busy enough fending him off that she almost misses it when Spock reports _a sound of phaser discharge._  

But then she stills and her attention snaps to his face. 

“What?” She holds Bones away at arm’s length, focusing solely on Spock. “Are you telling me that the explosion was a deliberate attack?” 

Spock’s wearing a forbidding expression. “That is the logical conclusion, unless someone fired accidentally and avoided taking the blame for the resulting damage.” 

Bones swears, one of the injured ensigns gasps, and Jen feels fatigue descend upon her shoulders like a heavy cloak. A potential attack from the inside. That’s… great, that’s just great. Exactly how she wants to start her day. 

“Right,” she says, and gives herself a mental shake. “Bones, since you’re clearing Spock for duty, we’ll be off. Spock, you’re with me. Let’s go back to the bridge and—talk on the way.” 

“As you wish, Captain,” Spock says, impassive. 

“We can’t rule out an accident,” Jen says, mustering up a smile for a couple of crewmen they pass. “I mean, you said it yourself, maybe someone just wanted to avoid responsibility.” 

“It is possible,” Spock agrees. 

“But if it wasn’t an accident…” Jen sighs. 

“We must begin an investigation in any case,” Spock says, voice firm. 

“Yeah.” Jen tugs at her ponytail. “We can’t exactly have someone walking around the ship, sabotaging our repair efforts. And endangering the crew. Dammit.” She shakes her head. “We really, really don’t need this shit right now. Have I mentioned that we don’t need this shit right now?” 

“Captain,” Spock says in an undertone, quelling, and Jen takes a deep breath. It wouldn’t do to freak out the crew with an emotional breakdown in the corridor. “I will check the video log,” Spock adds, and it’s like the situation—or the promise of extra work—doesn’t faze him at all. 

“Yeah,” Jen says. “Good luck with that. Meanwhile, I’ve got a call with Admiral Barnett.” 

Spock levels her with a look—Jen can’t quite tell whether it’s a commiserating one or a _you chose to usurp command, so you’d better suck it up_ kind of glare. 

Not an easy guy to get a read on, her Vulcan XO. 

Once they’re on the bridge, Spock immerses himself in pulling up the security videos from the exploded corridor, and Jen contorts her face into pleasant expressions for Barnett’s benefit. When the call is done, Chekov swivels his chair towards her, as if he’s been waiting for her to finish all this time. 

“Keptin,” the kid says. “Could I—if you—I think I know how to optimize the repairs of the circuitry in the damaged turbines, if this equation is correct—” 

Jen throws a glance at Spock, and they both get up and walk over to loom over Chekov. This makes Chekov gulp and flit his gaze between them, worrying his lower lip. 

Jen takes the paper from Chekov’s console and straightens, frowning over the rushed scribbles. As far as she can see, the theory checks out. Spock is reading over her shoulder, and he’s not offering immediate objections, which means that he’s found nothing wrong either. 

“Good job, Chekov,” Jen says, clapping their resident wunderkind on the shoulder and handing him the paper back. His face lights up in obvious delight, and she grins. “Go on, find Scotty and see what he’s got to say about this.” 

Chekov makes to get up, but Jen gives him a stern look. 

“Don’t stay too long, okay? Just until your shift is over, and you need to hit the bunk after.” 

Chekov’s seventeen and Jen’s not even ten years his senior, and yet she feels bizarrely parental as she watches him walk out of the bridge. He’s the youngest and one of the brightest on the ship, and she’ll never forgive herself if he gets injured down in engineering out of sheer exhaustion.   

“Captain?” Sulu is looking at her oddly, and Jen realizes that she has been standing in place and staring at nothing for the past—however long. 

“It’s fine,” she says automatically, even though the response doesn’t make much sense. “I’m fine,” she amends, and gives Sulu a crooked smile, which he returns. 

She stops by Spock’s console on the way back to the command chair, and quietly inquires about his progress. 

“Nothing so far.” There’s tightness in Spock’s voice. “But I have much yet to inspect.” 

Jen blows out a breath and stares at the silent video feed on the console. The moving figures on the screen make her feel momentarily dizzy, and she shakes her head to clear it. More coffee, that’s what she needs. 

“Brief me later?” she asks. 

Spock gives an imperceptible nod—unnoticeable to anyone but Jen, that is, because she’s standing so near. Looking up, Jen catches Uhura’s eyes on them, or rather on Spock. 

Uhura and Spock can’t have had much opportunity for romance lately, but that’s none of Jen’s business, and happily not her problem. 

Jen reclaims the captain’s chair. 

There are still reports to file and documents to slog through—and she also needs to put security, or what’s left of it, on alert regarding the possible attack. 

*** 

In Spock’s quarters after the shift, they haven’t found anything useful despite a solid hour of looking for visual clues. 

“The goddamn shooter had to get to the corridor somehow,” Jen snaps, willing the force of her glare to reveal something on the security feed. 

Spock is frowning. 

“While that is something that logic quite clearly indicates, I fail to see how stating as much can possibly aid us.” 

“Damn it, Spock, I—” The room blurs before Jen’s eyes and she’s hit by a dizzy spell, stronger than the several she’s experienced before this. She puts a hand out to steady herself despite the fact that she’s sitting down already. 

Spock’s eyes catch the movement and his brows crease slightly. 

“You need sleep,” he states. 

“Who doesn’t?” Jen mutters. Not like _he_ can talk. 

“Due to my Vulcan physiology, I require less sleep than humans,” Spock says, and he can’t be reading her mind, but maybe tiredness has made her that transparent. “It would be prudent of you to rest so that you remain at your optimal operational capacity.” 

Jen hasn’t heard from her optimal operational capacity ever since Bones’s hypospray let her onto the Enterprise to begin with, but that’s not a line of argument she’s about to take up. 

“I don’t exactly have quarters here,” she points out, instead. 

For a couple of moments, Spock just stares at her woodenly—a testament to how run down _he_ is—and then comprehension dawns. Jen thinks she detects a flash of emotion in his eyes that gives it away, the magnitude of everything hitting him again. 

She’s not even supposed to be on this goddamn ship. She’s on academic probation; _he_ put her on academic probation. That they are now in command together is a bizarre twist of fate they’ve simply not had the time to ponder. 

“The captain’s quarters are unoccupied,” Spock points out in a level tone, and Jen suppresses a flinch. 

Sure. Pike’s rooms. But the thought of surrounding herself with constant reminders of him, this quasi-parental figure she’s so close to losing— 

She can’t deal with this right now, not on top of everything else. She’s either a starship captain doing her job, or an individual falling to pieces over private grief. She can’t be both at once, and she doesn’t need it hammered home to her, what the recent tragedy means to her personally.         

“It’s alright, I’m not that tired,” she tells Spock, rolling a shoulder. “I’m just… it’s a sugar crash, or something. You were saying, about that video?” 

Spock gives her a long look. 

“It will take time, but we may be able to locate quarters no one else is using,” he says. 

Time. Yeah. That thing they have in spades. 

“Honestly, Spock, I’m fine,” Jen says. Though, really, she was better before they’d talked of sleep and she let her mind wander in that direction. 

Jen fights against closing her eyes. Every time she does, she’s falling down a dark, beckoning tunnel, and a prolonged blink can easily turn into— 

“You may repose here,” Spock utters finally. Jen opens her eyes to see him gesturing to the bed behind them. “If it does not disturb you that I continue working.” 

It’s her turn to stare. 

“What? No, Spock, it’s okay, I—” 

“Captain.” 

Jen looks from him to the screen. The vid is paused, frozen, but it’s still swimming before her eyes. 

She pushes a stray hair out of her face and gets up, grasping the edge of the desk for confidence. 

“Let me know if you find something,” she tells Spock. “Wake me up if you do.” 

“I shall do so,” Spock says, and turns back to the computer terminal. 

Jen sits down on the bed, takes off her boots with massive effort—and then just flops back. She’s momentarily certain she’ll never move again, and then she falls into darkness. 

*** 

When Jen wakes up, the lights are still on and Spock is still sitting at the desk with his back to her. 

“Anything new?” she means to ask, but it comes out as: “Hnng?” 

Spock turns around, and it occurs to her that sleeplessness has left its marks on him too; it’s there in his pinched expression and the washed out color of his face. 

“I must ask you to rephrase your query, Captain,” Spock says as she eyes the nightstand in search of a glass of water. 

Finding none, she hauls her legs over the edge of the bed. 

Her body feels heavy, like ballast she’s pulling along, but she forces it to move, because she’s the motherfucking captain and she has things to do. 

Like get herself something to drink. 

“Any news?” she rasps out, and gives a small cough. “What did you find?” 

“The security recordings have been tampered with,” Spock reports, posture stiff. “We could detect no shooter because thirty-one seconds directly prior to the attack have been purged from the surveillance feed.” 

“Well. Fuck,” Jen says. “How long was I asleep?” 

Spock does not seem to feel that this is an adequate response for what he’s just told her, but answers anyway. 

“Five hours, thirty-three minutes and approximately fifteen seconds,” he says, because he’s a member of a now-endangered species of pedants. 

“Fuck,” Jen repeats. That seems to be an accurate summation of most everything. “Can I use your shower?” 

The expression on Spock’s face conveys that he’s probably thinking unfavourable thoughtsinside his Vulcan brain somewhere. 

“By all means,” he says nonetheless. 

Jen stops by the replicator to get some fresh clothes and a toothbrush, and staggers over to the bathroom. Once there, she opens up a spray of water and stands under it for as long as she thinks Spock will let her get away with wasting the precious resource. 

Her reflection in the mirror stares back at her with sunken blue eyes, but luckily she’s not on the ship to win a beauty pageant. She braids her hair and hopes it won’t drip too noticeably. 

“Listen,” she says, walking out of the shower. “If the tape has actually been damaged, odds are that the explosion wasn’t an accident. Or, if it was, it’s now getting beyond that.” 

“Indeed, Captain.” 

“And if the attackers have managed to gain access to and tamper with the security vids, this makes it more likely that some of our own people are behind this.” 

“This has occurred to me,” Spock says. 

“A real cheerful thought.” Jen wanders over to the replicator. “You want anything?” 

“I would appreciate some tea,” Spock tells her, and then: “And I would advise you to include actual sustenance with your meal, as opposed to a mere caffeinated beverage.” 

Jen blinks. 

“Wow, who made you my keeper?” 

She orders a sandwich for all that, because it’s true she’s hungry, and brings Spock’s Vulcan tea over to the desk when she comes over. Spock frowns her away from the computer terminal and to the actual table, because, jeez, spill some coffee on the keyboard once and no one will let you forget it. 

“The matter of the assailant aside, several reports have come in from engineering,” Spock says, pushing a PADD towards her. “Mr. Chekov’s contribution appears to have sped up the works, and Mr. Scott has left a glowing assessment of his solution. In fact, he is promising to look further into Mr. Chekov’s unique approach and see if more can be done.” 

Jen nods, bites into her breakfast and wills her brain to kick into gear. 

She’ll probably need to use it today, the way things have been going so far. 

*** 

Jen’s got to deal with 79 reports and three messages from Starfleet by the time she arrives at the bridge. She takes a moment to wonder whether it’s possible to clone herself into two or three, because at this rate she’s never going to crawl out from under the pile of paperwork. 

Not to mention the exploded corridor snafu. 

“Attention all decks,” Jen says, connecting to the ship-wide announcement system. “Yesterday at about 1015 hours an unauthorized phaser discharge on deck twelve has led to the explosion of the corridor by the biochemistry lab…” 

Jen and Spock have agreed that they should alert crewmembers to the potential danger, despite the risks to morale. 

The bridge crew, at least, don’t seem to enjoy the explanation that their fight against the enemies is apparently not yet over, because someone’s been trying to do them in right on the ship. The worst reaction may well be Sulu’s, because he just looks resigned _._  

“The investigation is ongoing,” Spock tells them, all assertiveness and efficiency. “The culprit will be found and brought to justice.” 

For some reason, this fails to make the bridge crew jump with joy. 

Two hours into interminable reports written in high bureaucratic parlance, Jen decides it’s time to either throw herself out of an airlock, or give herself a break. A break, in her case, involves legwork over the sabotage situation, because this is her life now. 

“Mr. Spock, the bridge is yours,” Jen says. “I’ll pop down to security and check what’s going on there.” 

She gives Spock a significant glance. 

Due to the likelihood of the attack being an inside job, she and Spock have decided to keep other people’s involvement in the investigation to the minimum. That is, Spock has strongly argued, and Jen has reluctantly agreed that they can’t just hand the situation over to security and rest easy, because for all they know security has been compromised. After all, those seconds got wiped from the surveillance feed _somehow_. 

Distrusting her crew after everything they’ve been through feels like a massive dick move, though, and Jen frowns as she takes the turbolift down to the security complex. 

“Captain!” The lieutenant in the control room sits up, wide-eyed, at Jen’s appearance. 

Jen waves her down with a smile. “As you were, Lieutenant…” 

“Nguyen, ma’am. ” 

“That’s right, Lieutenant Nguyen, don’t look so alarmed, no one’s is dying. Well, that I know of.” This brand of humor doesn’t seem to work on the young woman, judging by her expression, so Jen cuts to the chase. “I need to know who had access to this room, and the surveillance feed records, yesterday at about… let’s say between 1000 and 1100 hours.” 

“Aye, ma’am. Just a moment, ma’am.” Nguyen pulls up some data on her computer terminal and then shakes her head, slowly. “Lieutenant Hendorff was on duty in the control room at the time, but that is all I can say for certain. Due to the nature of—” Nguyen gives an uncertain wave as if to indicate, _the insanity that is this ship._ “—er, occasionally, emergencies occur.” 

Jen tilts her head to the side. “I hope you’re not trying to say that you sometimes up and leave the control room unattended.” 

“Er.” 

Jen levels Nguyen with a hard stare. 

“We, ah, try not to, ma’am?” the officer ventures. 

“I’m afraid that’s not going to cut it,” Jen says, firmly. “Lieutenant, I’ll have a word with your superior, but I may as well tell you now that, emergency or no, you _stay here._ We have a control room for a good reason. Any security breach will be recorded here, and it’s your responsibility to keep that data safe.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Nguyen says, suddenly pale. 

Jen brings up a hand. “Lieutenant. I won’t be writing you up. And I get it that, after recent events, your department is… understaffed and overworked. Trust me, we all are. But there are things we can’t slack off on, and security data is one of them. Alright?” 

“Yes, Captain.” It looks like the message really did get through. At least, Nguyen appears to be brimming with sudden determination, and there’s alertness to her posture that was absent before. 

Jen acknowledges her with a nod. “Good. Now, please tell me where I can find officer Hendorff.” 

While Nguyen works to fulfill the request, Jen takes a look around the room. 

“I don’t suppose there’s surveillance in here, is there?” she asks. 

“No, Captain,” Nguyen says, and she sounds apologetic. “Lieutenant Hendorff is currently off-shift, but he is due to arrive at 0100 hours.” 

“I see. Thank you, Lieutenant.” 

Jen leaves Nguyen imbued with a new sense of responsibility, and marches off in search of the head of security. She’s got words to say. 

*** 

When Jen finally makes it back to the bridge and takes the conn back from Sulu—Spock being off to parts unknown—it turns out that Uhura has been waiting for her to deliver more news from Starfleet. 

“Captain.” The communications officer turns to face Jen, a strange, guarded expression her face. “As you’re aware, the press have been harassing Starfleet into letting them talk to us. And I’ve just received word that—Captain, Command have given a green light.” 

Silence reigns on the bridge for the two seconds it takes Jen to snap out of mute astonishment. 

“So there’s going to be, what, an interview?” Jen asks. “With us, directly?” 

Uhura’s expression doesn’t change. “A request for a video conference with you has been approved, Captain.” 

Jen blinks. 

“Lieutenant,” she says, very carefully, “are you telling me that the brass want me to talk to the press? _Me?”_  

The very idea is preposterous. Starfleet Command have yet to indicate to Jen that they approve her presence on the Enterprise in the first place, never mind running the show. She’s half-expecting to be arrested straight upon arrival back on Earth. Each time they say _acting captain,_ Jen hears _gutsy little upstart._  

None of this amounts to the ringing endorsement implied in letting her out on the press as an official face of Starfleet and captain of its flagship vessel. Either some wires have crossed somewhere, or the admirals were drunk when issuing the order. 

“They honestly want to give _me_ a free rein on what to say?” Jen asks. 

Uhura looks like she agrees, though probably for different reasons. Chances are, Jen’s general character features in them quite prominently. 

“They also request Commander Spock’s inclusion in the conference,” Uhura says, and now it makes a little more sense. 

The brass are expecting Spock to control Jen, and to make sure she doesn’t say anything impolitic. An unwise order to give a man who’d nearly killed Jen last time he tried to dictate her actions—but, of course, they don’t know that. 

“Forward the details of where, when and how to my PADD, Lieutenant,” Jen says, leaning back in her chair. 

“Aye, Captain.” 

Jen watches absently as Uhura turns back to her console. 

Spock’s presence or not, this is still strange. For Starfleet Command to put their image into Jen’s impetuous hands—she doesn’t see how they can want to risk it, given the consequences if Jen slips up during the interview and says something she shouldn’t. 

Or something they think she shouldn’t. 

“Uhura,” she calls out, quietly. “You’ve been bumping heads with them on this a while. What are they hoping to gain?” _By throwing us to the wolves,_ she doesn’t add. 

She doesn’t need to. Uhura knows what she’s asking. 

Uhura swivels back in her chair and gives an answer that apparently leaves a bad taste in her mouth. 

“PR, Captain.” 

Which is just enough to answer some questions, and generate about a thousand more. 

Just how badly off _is_ Starfleet right now if they think the benefits of letting Jen out onto the world outweigh the potential losses? 

She’s going to need to talk to Spock about this. At length. 

*** 

As it happens, Spock is not the first person Jen discusses the looming interview with; that honor eventually belongs to Bones. 

Jen heads down to med bay to get the latest casualty reports in person, but Bones is tending to an emergency, so she takes a moment to duck into Pike’s ward at first. 

The hum of medical equipment is the only noise in the room. Pike himself just lies there, silent and unmoving, and if not for the pulse readings on the monitor by the bed— 

Jen sighs and wonders whether it’s ever a good idea to come here, to let this sight rattle her as it inevitably does. But then, it would feel like a betrayal if she never showed up at all. 

Pike is one of the few people who’s ever _cared_. By the time Jen met him she’d been all sharp edges, ready to cut anyone who came too close. She’d been going nowhere fast, and Pike caught her at the brink of the cliff, shook her by the scruff of her neck and _made_ her believe she could be more than a sum of her bad choices. And he’s never given up on her, not even when she disappointed him, not even when she snuck onboard his ship and challenged his orders. 

At times, in some deep long-forgotten part of her, it’s really has felt like the warmth of having a parent, and that’s a terrifying, terrifying thought, because Jen doesn’t have the best track record at keeping her parental figures around. 

“Jen?” Bones asks, sticking his head into the room. 

Jen casts a long glance at Pike and nods. 

“Yeah,” she says softly. “Coming.” 

As soon as Bones gets a good look at her, he growls and reaches for a tricorder. 

“For all that is holy, _when have you last slept?”_  

“Cut it out,” Jen says, trying to wave him away. “I sleep all the time.” 

“Oh yeah?” Bones demands. “Do you _want_ me to hypospray you into next week?” 

“Sure!” Jen says, throwing up her hands. “Go ahead. Someone else can make sure the ship is repaired enough to make it to the nearest starbase, and catch the mystery saboteur, and handle the paperwork, and, oh, while they’re at it, they can also deal with the press conference that’s coming up—something that, by the way, would not be happening if the world made any sense!” 

Bones stares. “You sound a bit… stressed there, kid.” 

“You don’t say,” Jen murmurs. 

“Alright.” Bones tugs her by the elbow into his office. Once in, he shuts the door and waves at the available chairs. “I happen to have five minutes to fill, so come on. Talk to me.” 

Jen looks around the room, taking in the crowded desk and the mess on the shelves and the not-too-subtly hidden bottle of liquor. Bones doesn’t look like a guy who has time to spare for idle chatter, but concern is writ large on his face, and she finds something inside her growing warm at his familiar regard. 

“I’m okay, really.” She sighs, sincere for once. “It’s just—it’s. There’s a lot going on.” 

She finds herself telling Bones the latest news, and the myriad tiny things making constant demands on her time, and how little she needs to deal with the press on top of the admiralty riding her ass. 

“I see,” Bones says, mouth twisted in distaste. “That’s a new low for them, but I guess we should have seen it coming, what with the brouhaha about you and the hobgoblin.” 

“What?” Jen asks. 

Bones looks at her like she’s a bit strange. “Well, the gossip? In the mags?” 

“What gossip? I haven’t heard anything,” Jen says, tensing. 

“You haven’t?” Bones repeats. When she doesn’t let up her blank stare, he looks heavenwards. “Well, I admit it’s not exactly breaking news, but I thought your own name would catch your attention!” 

“I’ve got enough reading material as it is, thanks,” Jen snaps. 

Her bad feeling grows worse as Bones grabs a PADD off his desk and, after few tense clicks at the screen, pushes the device into her hands. “Go on. Knock yourself out.” 

Jen draws her eyebrows as she gets her first glance. 

It’s… her, on the front page. Her and Spock, their individual shots pulled from what looks like the Academy database. _All You Wanted to Know about the Narada Heroes,_ the headline promises. 

“The Narada heroes?” Jen repeats, raising her head to stare at Bones. 

“Yep, that’s you,” Bones says, running a hand through his hair. “And him. Word has leaked out that the two of your led the charge, and people are… curious.” 

“Curious?” Jen repeats, flicking over to the next publication, and the next. 

Pictures of her and Spock grace the pages of numerous papers. They are, apparently, the most unlikely pair of heroes to ever save Earth, and this has the Terran imagination going into overdrive. Jen’s father, Spock’s tragic loss of his planet, their seemingly contentious past—all of this spills across the pages of magazines, but, through all that, there’s a definite thread of romanticization. As if Jen and Spock weren’t just young people who ended up in command and are floundering their way through with the vital help of their friends and allies, but bona fide heroes who pulled off a miracle all on their own. 

“What the fuck, Bones,” Jen says, not a little freaked out. 

“Well, kid, it’s sure easier for them to focus on the glory that is you and Spock than on a destroyed fleet, a blown-up planet, and over six billion dead,” Bones says, and his expression is openly sympathetic when Jen glances at him. 

“Oh yeah?” she murmurs. 

“Gives them something to smile about, right?” Bones shrugs. “They’re calling you visions of hope, more or less. Youth, vitality, whatever. What people need, when everything’s gone to hell and they don’t know what to do.” Bones’s face goes grim. “And Starfleet need big goddamn heroes right now, too. Anything to make for good news.” 

The world is a dark, dark place when Jen can be considered a vision of hope. 

Jen looks down at her broken nails, thinks of Spock and his stony silences and his tenuous hold on his composure. Maybe they’re heroes, but they can’t be responsible for everyone’s morale. They’re barely shoring up their own crew. 

“Fuck, Bones.” Jen scrubs her face with a hand. “If they’re expecting us to be the poster children of an operation well done, and send a message home that, hey, everything is cheery, nobody liked Vulcan anyway, and look how pretty we are—” 

“Kid, breathe,” Bones says, and his expression morphs back into concern. “You’ll do fine, just like you’ve been doing so far, and if those vultures twist your words? That’ll serve Command just right, because they shouldn’t be putting you in this situation to begin with. Alright?” 

“Yeah.” Jen looks away, at the shelves in Bones’s office. “Yeah, of course.” 

Except it’s her career on the line, and quite possibly Spock’s too, depending on how Command is going to handle their case. 

“Now go and get some rest, you hear me?” Bones demands. “Sleep deprivation will do you no favors. The bags under your eyes are bigger than your goddamn face, Jen.” 

“You know what to say to a girl, Bones,” Jen mutters, heaving herself out of the chair. 

Bones scowls. 

***

Jen mulls over what she’s found out all the way back to the bridge and decides to categorize her and Spock’s apparent fame under _nope, won’t deal with it right now._ There’s hardly anything she can do about it, anyway, and mentally estimating the dimensions of this clusterfuck—well, she’s got enough to think about as it is. Maybe she should mention the whole thing to Spock, at least before the conference, but then again, Uhura is preparing the briefs for them. Let Uhura make the call of whether Spock needs to know; she’s the communications specialist. 

Spock still isn’t on the bridge when Jen returns, and now she’s beginning to wonder, because it’s been a couple of hours already. 

“Did Commander Spock say where he went?” she asks the bridge at large, unwilling to comm him on the off chance that the call might distract him from grappling with some new disaster. 

“I think he said that—the Vulcans?” Sulu looks half-uncertain, half-apologetic, as if it’s in bad taste to even mention the Vulcan refugees onboard. 

Not that anyone lacks sympathy—but since the Vulcans don’t want any, it’s hard to know what tone to take. How do you talk about a people who were so closed off and unknowable before the tragedy hit, and whom only a monumental loss has rendered relatable? 

“Right,” Jen says. “Of course. Well, Spock will return in his own time, then.” 

But when Spock does finally come back, a few hours later, he’s bearing obvious signs of exhaustion. Looking at him, Jen remembers vividly that he _still hasn’t slept,_ and no wonder he’s so pale he’s blending in with the walls. 

He hears the news of the upcoming press conference in stoic silence and insists on picking up the sabotage investigation once the alpha shift officially ends. 

“Come on, Spock, you’re in no condition to do that,” Jen hisses, following him out of the bridge. “Just go to—” 

Jen breaks off as Uhura comes directly at them in a determined stride. 

“Commander,” she says, stopping in front of Spock and fixing him with a keen look. “I would like to speak with you.” 

“Lieutenant, I must ask you to postpone this discussion,” Spock answers, almost before she’s finished talking. 

“Right,” Jen says, backing away. “I’ll just leave you two to it.” 

“There is no need,” Spock says, and even Jen can hear the strain in his voice. 

He and Uhura have a silent stare-off, and then Uhura folds. 

“Okay, Spock,” she says, gently. “But—you know where to find me.” She lays a hand on his sleeve, and Spock merely stands there until she gives him another nod and turns to leave. 

“You should have gone with her,” Jen tells Spock, watching Uhura walk away from them. “Take the night off. You need some downtime.” 

“I would prefer to continue working,” Spock says tonelessly, and does not relent all the way to his quarters. 

Never let it be said that Vulcans aren’t stubborn as fuck. 

Jen finally puts her foot down when the clock strikes midnight and Spock’s somnambulist presence is making _her_ progressively sleepier. 

“Look, Spock, I know you’re Vulcan and way cooler than ordinary humans and you have endurance beyond anything everyone’s had ever, okay? Whatever you say. But this isn’t a normal situation. You can’t possibly do this for much longer, and you’re going to be useless to me if you keep this up. So go to sleep and reset your batteries,” Jen tells him, facing him across his desk. 

Spock stares stonily at her. She’s either seeing things, or he’s actually swaying on his feet. Jen doesn’t think she’s imagining it. 

“The meeting with Lieutenant Hendorff—” Spock begins. 

“I’m here, I’m awake, I’m _on it,”_ Jen says. “I’ll go talk to him, and I’ll brief you when you wake up. Just—go rest for a while, okay? That’s an order, if you need any more convincing.” 

Spock’s look is now a glare, but it’s so weak she’s sure Spock is about to cave. 

“Spock?” she gentles her voice. “Look. Your hands are _shaking._ Go to sleep.” 

“I shall meditate,” Spock says, opting for a compromise. “But I do not anticipate it taking a long time. As such—” 

“Yep, I’ll clear out,” Jen says, already reaching to grab her PADDs. 

Spock seems to experience a moment of hesitation, which probably shines through only because he’s so damn tired. 

“It is unnecessary,” he says, in the end. “My meditation will be brief, and I would prefer it if we carried on working upon its conclusion.” 

Jen frowns, shrugs, but lets it slide. It’s easier for her not to go looking for an empty briefing room, so she sits down and glues her eyes back to the screen. 

When she glances over to Spock next time, he’s kneeling in the meditation corner, head bowed and a spicy smell of incense lingering in the air. 

It’s… nice, actually, Jen decides. Except that the scent is surprisingly soothing, and Jen could just close her eyes and— 

She shakes her head with some effort and sits up straighter. Last night’s five-hour rest has hardly made up for the sleep deficit she’s been running on, but Spock is right—one of them should stay on the ball. 

She rubs her eyes, marks the time so as not to miss the start of Hendorff’s shift, and gets up to fetch another coffee. 

*** 

Caught up in other problems, Jen doesn’t research Hendorff’s profile as she by all rights should. As such, it comes as a shock to her to walk into security at one in the morning and see Cupcake sitting at the console. 

“Lieutenant Hendorff,” Jen acknowledges, trying not to sound chagrined. 

“Oh, so you do know my name, _Captain?”_ Hendorff snarls. 

Of all the people on this ship, Cupcake is one of the ones Jen least wants to suspect, because he’s among the few that might actually be bearing a grudge. 

Jen hates everything, a little bit. 

“Listen, Hendorff, let’s leave our personal issues aside, shall we?” Jen suggests with a tight smile. “Anyway, by now I think we’re even.”

Cupcake’s glower suggests that they’re not even by a long shot, but he doesn’t say _no,_ so Jen takes this as agreement. 

“Right!” she says brightly. “Glad to have you onboard. Now, Lieutenant, can you give me a detailed account of your shift yesterday—in particular, of the time period between 1000 and 1100 hours?” 

Jen listens to his description, including the way he’s had to leave his post a few times. He gives her a defensive look at that, but Jen shakes her head and says that she’s already spoken to his direct CO, and she knows they’ve all received the _stick to your seat_ speech. 

“Well, they needed all available hands for the exploded corridor on deck 12, didn’t they?” Cupcake reports, belligerently. “Not too many of us on shift, because we need to sleep too, now and then. It was that or let who-knows-what happen. Captain.” 

“So you left the room straight after the explosion,” Jen ascertains, resisting the urge to bang her head against the wall. 

“They needed help, _like I said,_ Captain.” 

Yes, and while you were away the attacker snuck in here and deleted any record of their presence, Jen thinks but doesn’t say. Cupcake had no reason to believe that this was a deliberate attack. Since Nero, they’ve all put their utmost efforts into staying afloat and cleaning up the damage, under the assumption that no more external threats loomed. Protocol has been flaunted quite often, Jen knows that; but that’s the downside of having people work around the clock, doing more than their fair share. 

Maybe Jen needs to keep her crew on a tighter leash, exert more control. All this is her failing as a captain as well as theirs as security officers. She’s ultimately responsible for their actions, and she should have been better at organizing their work. 

But there’s been so much else happening, and she just can’t be in all places at once— 

But she’s going to have to do better. Somehow. 

She mulls over that all the way back to Spock’s quarters. She needs to get him in on this; he’s got a better head than she does for meticulous administrative detail. 

Spock’s still in a meditative trance when Jen gets back, so she replicates yet another coffee and drops into the desk chair. If she gets most of the reports out of the way now, she’ll be free later to go over the scheduling issues with Spock. Unless, of course, another disaster strikes in the meanwhile; one never knows, with this ship. 

*** 

As if to illustrate Jen’s thoughts, she gets a call from Scotty at ass-early in the morning. She is, apparently, surrounded by sleepless workaholics. 

Jen retreats to the bathroom in a bid to avoid disturbing Spock, and pinches the bridge of her nose as Scotty fires off a tirade about Chekov and turbines and figures that don’t make any sense right now. 

“—and if you raise that to the power of, say, nine hundred, and if we reroute the power of auxiliary thrusters—” 

He is citing _numbers_ at her. Equations. Like she currently has the mental capacity left to keep up with him without even a paper nearby. 

“Oh my god, why are you doing this to me?” she asks when he finally pauses for breath. 

Jen has an awesome command team, she really does. They’re all super competent and they’ve had the kind of baptism by fire that proves a person’s worth beyond any doubt. But she’s starting to think that some of them, at least, are also goddamn crazy, exhibit A currently on the other end of this line. 

“Scotty,” Jen says, blinking against the pain building up in her temples. “Fine. I tentatively agree to look into—the thing. The thing that you want to do. It sounds like… a good thing.” From what she can tell, anyway. “You know what you’re doing, right? You’re not going to break my ship?” 

“Me?” Scotty sounds outraged. “You’re asking _me_ if I’ll break the ship? Captain, it wasn’t my bright idea to give this lady such a walloping—have you _seen_ what they’ve done to her—” 

“Alright, alright,” Jen says. “I’ll want to see some numbers—s _ee_ them, Scotty, not hear them—so send me a report, later. Not at half past too early, what are you even running on, and can I have some?” 

That last comes out maybe a bit too plaintive, because Scotty gives a bark of laughter before he bids her goodbye. 

Jen leans against the tiled wall and closes her eyes for a moment. 

When she opens them again, Spock is standing in the bathroom doorway. He’s looking significantly better than before, and he’s got an eyebrow raised in silent question. 

“Hey.” Jen quirks a smile. “I didn’t want to disturb you with the talking.” She gestures at Spock with her comm. “I guess I did anyway, didn’t I? Sorry.” 

“Your apology is unnecessary,” Spock says, and his voice sounds more gravelly than normal. “I have had a sufficient amount of rest.” 

“Well. Good.” Jen hides her yawn behind a hand and pushes off the wall. “Then I can update you on what I’ve found.” 

Spock gives her a measuring stare, then nods. 

“I shall rejoin you momentarily,” he says. 

Jen wonders what he means—he’s already there, isn’t he—but then his intent catches up with her and she fights down a bout of awkwardness as she leaves the bathroom and lets him shut the door behind her. Very soon, she hears the sound of the shower, and shakes her head as she falls back into the desk chair. 

When Spock emerges, he’s looking more bright-eyed still, and he crosses the room to the replicator first thing. 

“Do you require anything?” he asks, polite. 

“Coffee?” Jen says. 

Spock conveys his disapproval in a characteristic twitch of his right eyebrow. “Your caffeine intake is far exceeding the recommended amount. However, if you wish for actual nourishment—” 

Jen interrupts him with an impatient wave of her hand. “Whatever. Get me something.” 

Her meal, when Spock brings it over, is a bowl of some strange-looking slop. With bits in it. Jen regards it with deep suspicion, then transfers her gaze to Spock. 

“This is plomeek soup,” he tells her. “A specialty of my people. It is most nutritious and…” 

Spock cuts himself off and stands stock still, staring into his bowl. Jen can see how it knocks the breath of out him, the realization that _his people_ are now a scattered group numbering in the thousands instead of billions. It— 

Jesus. Jen has no idea what that’s got to feel like. 

She lifts a spoonful of the soup to her lips. 

“This is delicious,” she lies. 

The words startle Spock out of his dark contemplation. He throws Jen a glance and then sits opposite her at the table. 

The meal is a silent affair. The soup scores really low on Jen’s scale of gastronomic delights, but she finishes every last drop, because she’d feel like a heel otherwise. 

“Thank you,” Spock says at last, oddly solemn, “for sharing this meal with me.” 

“It’s—” She knows it’s wrong to say _it’s nothing_. “It was my pleasure.” 

She’s never been this formal in her life, but her words seem to work for Spock, because he loses some of the tension she didn’t realize he’d been carrying. 

There’s a pause in which Jen clears her throat and doesn’t know quite what to say, and Spock gathers up their dishes and takes them away from the table. 

“Anyway—do you feel up to that debrief now?” Jen ventures. 

“My feelings have little to do with the matter at hand, but I am ready to hear of your findings.” 

Jen doesn’t like the way Spock’s posture becomes stiff again, but there’s nothing for it—they’ve got a job to do, and that’s the whole reason they’re here. 

“I apologize that I was unable to assist you with the investigation, Captain,” Spock says. “It seems that I required a longer meditation period than anticipated.” 

He looks totally uncomfortable about it, too, like it’s a great failure on his part to require rest like a normal person. 

“Spock. It’s okay,” Jen says, rolling her eyes. “Though, you know, in the future I’d rather you took rest when you needed it, instead of letting it get to the point of collapse.” 

Spock arches an eyebrow, like _are you of all people really going to lecture me on this._  

“You look fatigued as well,” he says. “Perhaps it is time for you to take your own advice and sleep.” 

She shoots him a smile. “I slept yesterday, Spock. Wouldn’t want to get used to it.” 

“Humans require sleep at regular intervals in the cycle of—” 

“Oh god.” Jen drops her head on her elbows. “I know. But our shift starts so soon that I might as well pull an all-nighter, okay? It won’t be the first time. Humans aren’t as fragile as you think.”

*** 

Scotty does send her that report, the one with all the numbers. Jen reads it over on the bridge, and the further into it she gets, the more it seems like the man is actually onto something. Scotty is suggesting that they rig the ship to run on what will be essentially a power-save mode—except that he wants to redirect that energy to the impulse drive. If they can actually make this work, they’ll get to Starbase 411 far faster than the dreaded three months. 

“Chekov,” Jen calls out. “Did you help Scotty come up with this?” 

She stops by his console, a PADD in hand, and Chekov flushes at the attention. 

“Yes, Keptin. I thought if it applied to the turbines, then we could—I mean, it’s only a theory, but—” 

“Hey, no, it’s good.” Jen claps him on the shoulder. “Spock? Take a look at this.” 

More privately, by his station, she murmurs, “I don’t need to tell you how much I want this to work. But right now, I don’t see how this energy can be enough.” 

Spock nods. “I shall attend to it as soon as I’ve finished with my current assessment.” 

“Put it on high priority, yeah?” Jen says, her tone a soft command. “This could make all the difference, Spock, if I’m reading this correctly.” 

He raises his head to look at her. “Understood, Captain.” 

Jen leaves Spock to it and spends the next hour trying not to fall asleep over her paperwork. Finally, Spock finishes his assessment and strides over to Jen. 

“The plan has merit, but the level of risk is unacceptably high,” he says in the voice of a man who has thought through all possible options and come up with the only right one. 

Jen drops her head to the back of the chair, exhausted before they’re even having this argument. 

Because, oh yeah, there’s totally an argument to be had. 

“Spock—” 

“As you said yourself, it is dubious at best that we should get all the energy we need from redirecting the power from all non-essential operations,” Spock asserts. “Even then, the action could trigger a backlash, or overwhelm the system and cut the power necessary to the ship’s essential operations. The plan, as Mr. Scott outlines it, contains no visible failsafe.” 

“Spock,” Jen hisses. “You _are_ aware that us being in space right now is an unacceptable risk in and of itself? This ship is in no condition to fly. If we can speed up our progress—” 

“Exposing ourselves to the chance, if I may point out, of causing an internal combustion of engines—” 

Jen opens her mouth to reply when she becomes aware that the rest of the bridge crew is watching her and Spock argue with rising apprehension. Funny how that attempted strangulation is never far from people’s minds. 

Jen glares at Spock and points a finger at him. 

“We’ll discuss this later, okay?” 

“Very well,” Spock says stiffly, and starts retreating back to his station when Jen stops him. 

“No, hey, wait.” Jen glances Uhura’s way. “Lieutenant? How’s your progress with the press briefing?” 

“Ready to report whenever you wish, Captain,” Uhura says, voice clipped. 

“Excellent.” Jen gets up. “In that case, briefing room one. You, me and Spock, the party’s on.” 

Neither her nor Spock’s tempers have fully cooled during the short walk to the briefing room, but Uhura is of course perfectly poised and professional, and she looks very much disinclined to deal with any of their shit. 

Which, hey, totally Spock’s fault. Jen doesn’t want to deal with their shit either. The only thing she wants to do is sleep. 

“Quite clearly, when it comes to the press, Starfleet Command is pursuing one goal only,” Uhura begins, settling into a seat on Jen’s left. “And that is to present the organization, and the recent events, in the best possible light.” 

Jen nods. Spock just blinks from where sitting with his spine rigidly straight and hands folded in front of him. 

“The main objective of the press will be to find out what exactly happened during the Narada crisis.” Uhura looks down at her notes. “They will also want to probe into the relationships onboard, given the sudden change of leadership and the number of cadets in charge.” 

Jen winces. Yeah. That’s… fertile ground for investigation. 

“The press are likely to ask provocative questions tomorrow,” Uhura continues, glancing between Jen and Spock. “You need to be prepared for that. We’ll go over some of the thorniest issues, as regards the crisis, and rehearse some acceptable answers. There are, quite obviously, things that have happened that should not go on public record.” 

Spock stiffens at that and says: “Vulcans cannot lie.” 

“And yet they number among them some of the most accomplished diplomats in the Federation,” Uhura says calmly, and then her eyes fly wide open. Jen suppresses a wince because, yeah, Vulcans and what they are and what they used to be—perhaps not the best point of discussion at the moment. Uhura clears her throat. “That is—well, I’ll tell you what to say without outright lying.” 

Uhura visibly swallows, Spock resembles a rock for how still he’s sitting, and Jen wishes herself far, far away. 

Preferably in a soft bed somewhere, with a pillow over her head. 

“Alright then, Lieutenant,” she says, forcing out a devil-may-care grin. “Hit us with it. What can we expect from the vultures?” 

*** 

The briefing, which takes nearly forty minutes, saps what was left of Jen’s brain capacity. By the time Jen, Spock and Uhura return to the bridge, the floor has started looking comfortable and unfairly tempting. Jen is reduced to clutching at her coffee and feigning consciousness as she navigates her various duties. But she manfully—womanfully—holds her own, and doesn’t curl up under her chair, no matter how much sleep beckons. 

Spock cottons on to her condition in no time, and he keeps shooting her reproachful glares of the _I told you so_ variety. Jen dimly registers that she’s not the only one to notice Spock’s attitude, and she’d snap at him to quit it already if she didn’t have to conserve energy for breathing. 

And, well, for keeping her eyes open. 

Once the shift is finally, finally over, Jen holes up a briefing room to do one last thing. She’ll reread Scotty’s report before talking to Spock again, and then she’ll take off for the day. 

Of course, that’s when she does fall asleep. 

The transition is seamless; she’s reading, then she blinks, and suddenly there’s a strange buzzing in her ear and the world is tilted to the side and— 

She peels her head off the desk, and there’s Spock. 

Of course there’s Spock. 

“Captain,” he says, frowning. The tone of his voice communicates that he’s said this multiple times already, and has grown rather tired of repeating it. 

“Y’could try usin’ m’ name,” Jen slurs, ever helpful. “If you’re bored of callin’ m’ _captain_.” 

Spock’s left eyebrow does a rather exquisite lurch at that, and Jen stares in fascination. Her eyebrows don’t do that. She’s got boring eyebrows. Maybe one needs to be born a Vulcan in order to have eyebrows with a good range of expressions. 

“… would you not agree, Captain?” Spock asks. 

Jen opens her eyes—and when did she close them, she’d like to know—and she realizes that, shit, Spock’s been talking all this time. About… something. Probably something very logical, given the speaker. 

Jen squints up at him. 

“… yes?” she says, because it seems less likely to embroil her in a argument. 

Though, wait, isn’t she supposed to be having an argument? 

Maybe later, though. Too tired now. 

“Very well,” Spock says. “In that case, I shall accompany you.” 

Jen executes a maneuver worthy of Sulu at his finest, and narrowly avoids walking into the doorframe. Spock does not seem to appreciate this for the awesome feat that it is, and Jen contemplates this fact all the way down the corridor and into a turbolift. 

At which point it occurs to her that she’s not sure she ever did finish what she was doing, and where is she going, anyway? She probably needs to go back and do… whatever it was. 

“Captain.” This time, Spock honest-to-god prods her on the shoulder, and Jen startles and blinks her eyes open, _again._  

She finds herself slumped against the turbolift wall, and stares uncomprehendingly at the open door. She’s probably meant to walk towards it, but she doesn’t quite recall why. 

Jen follows Spock on autopilot. She may or may not have let her eyes fall shut, because she doesn’t really remember any of the trip. One moment she’s just kind of floating through space—which, how fitting, she _is_ in space, she should share this with Spock—and the next, she bumps against something on knee level and falls forward with a _whoosh_ of breath expelled from her lungs. 

Spock will probably mock her for this, which just figures; but when Jen peers at him, he just purses his lips and says: 

“Sleep well, Captain.” 

Wasn’t that what she was doing in the first place? Some people, honestly. 

There’s something niggling at the back of her mind—something she should do, or should not do—but it all fades into insignificance when she’s lying on a soft surface, and there’s a pillow under her head. 

Jen sleeps. 

*** 

Next thing Jen knows, there’s a hand on her shoulder, shaking her. 

She tries to shrug it off, but it won’t budge. 

“Captain. There remains only half an hour until the start of alpha shift.” 

This gets Jen to open her eyes, and the dark blob in front of her coalesces into Spock, hovering over her with a frown between his eyebrows. 

“Fuck,” Jen groans, rolling sideways. She feels like she’s been run over by a truck. Multiple times. She sits up, wincing. “Fuck. I’ve got to stop fucking with my sleep patterns, because, Jesus.” 

Her heart is hammering in her chest, as if it’s working double time to pump blood around her body. She breathes slowly, holding her head between her hands. 

“Captain. Are you well?” Spock speaks up. Jen detects a note of actual concern in his voice. 

“Yeah, of course.” She raises her head. “I’m fine, Spock. I just need five minutes in the shower.” 

When she gets out of the bathroom, Spock is checking his messages at the computer terminal, and there’s a heavenly smell of— 

Spock gestures to the table without taking his eyes off the screen. “I have taken the liberty to replicate your preferred beverage.” 

“Oh my god,” Jen says, reaching for the coffee with shaking hands. “Oh my god, Spock, thank you, and you may have my firstborn.” 

Spock seems to need a moment to process that statement. “I see no reason why I would have need of your offspring. However—” 

“You never know,” Jen mutters, guzzling down the coffee to the last drop. 

“ _However,”_ Spock repeats emphatically, and turns face her. “I seem to recall your words of advice when it comes to not letting oneself get to the point of collapse.” He glares at her with those dark, dark eyes. “I do not see how that is consistent with your behavior yesterday.” 

Jen winces. “Yeah, well. Do as I say, not as I do?” 

“You were found by Engisn Al-Naqib,” Spock says severely. “Who, quite understandably, panicked upon finding her captain in a state of obvious weakness. Fortunately, her first impulse was to alert me to the situation. I wondered whether I should take you down to the medical bay—” 

“Oh hell no,” Jen says, covering up a shudder. “You know I’m fine, I was just—” 

“Next time,” Spock replies, voice frosty, “I shall not hesitate to summon Doctor McCoy and let him do his professional duty.” 

The ultimatum in that phrase rings out loud and clear, and Jen bristles. 

“Still not my keeper,” she says pointedly. 

Spock glowers. 

“But, uh. Thank you. For, y’know, not ratting me out. And bringing me here instead? And, ah, for letting me use your shower? Again? Wow, if there’s etiquette for how often someone is allowed to do that, I’ve blown right by it, I think.” When her chatter fails to make a dint in Spock’s icy demeanor, Jen gives up. “Alright. You ready to go and face another day of mayhem and insanity on the starship Enterprise? The press conference is on today. So exciting.” 

Spock favors her with a sardonic eyebrow. Surveying him, Jen decides that he’s looking… bad, the kind of bad Jen’s just seen in the bathroom mirror when looking at herself. Sunken eyes, sallow skin, all the hallmarks of way too much stress and too little rest. 

Jen sighs. 

They do make quite the pair. It’s a wonder the crewmembers are still trusting them with running the ship. Then again, they might just be too busy to mutiny. 

“Hey,” Jen remembers—speaking of running the ship, “we never did talk about Scotty’s stuff yesterday. The engines? The power redistribution—thing?” She pauses by the replicator. “Do you want tea or anything, by the way?” 

“I would be amenable to a cup of tea, yes,” Spock says after a moment’s hesitation. “I have reread Mr. Scott’s report, and I have some suggestions as regards safety features.” 

“So you agree we have to do this thing,” Jen says, staring at the machine in front of her. Satisfaction mingles with apprehension in her gut. That’s an awful lot of lives in the balance if Jen and Spock miscalculate, if Jen makes the wrong call. She shakes her head. “Okay. Let’s get cracking.” 

She gets Spock’s tea while Spock grabs the relevant PADDs and brings them over to the table. Then, they’re huddled over the schematics again, Jen quietly munching on a sandwich, and no fucking wonder all her days are blurring together; it’s like she never went to bed at all. 

*** 

Spock and Jen end up being twenty minutes late to their shift, except it’s common knowledge that they work nearly around the clock, so it doesn’t count. Everyone just assumes—correctly—that they’ve been elsewhere on the ship doing other important things. 

Jen glances down at the report she’s about to send to Scotty. This… is big. If Scotty approves their safety suggestions, they will end up performing the kind of mid-flight experimentation that is likely to send Starfleet Command into seizures. That is, if Jen and everyone on board lives long enough to receive a scolding. 

But the alternative is sitting with their thumbs up their asses, waiting for the ship to give out on them, and that’s not a great plan, either. 

Jen presses _send._  

She glances at Spock; he catches her eye and gives her a tiny nod, either to say _we did good_ or _we’re fucked whatever we do._  

After that, several hours of alpha shift pass quietly. Nothing unexpected explodes or otherwise sets itself on fire, no urgent communiqués arrive from Starfleet, and even the engines work as they should. Chekov is busy working out further ideas for engineering, Spock draws up a new schedule to account for the crazy hours everyone is pulling, and Jen steadily gains ground on her backlog of paperwork. 

But the clock is ticking somewhere in the background, bringing them inexorably closer to the hour of the dreaded press conference. 

Jen may or may not stall for a moment in her chair when Spock says, at a quarter to show time: 

“Captain, we ought to go.” 

But she gets up with a grin, because that’s what she does, and her crewmates will not see her nervous over meeting a bunch of reporters, of all things. 

“Sulu, you’ve got the bridge,” she instructs with a wink, and then follows Spock out. 

It takes them but a moment to set up the computer terminal in briefing room two to receive the video call, and another to adjust the settings for the universal translator. 

There’s a whole bunch of journalists on the screen. Apparently, this is a hot topic to cover. Surprise surprise. 

“Captain Kirk,” a lady in a pink jacket purrs. According to the introductions, she’s Hortense Ellis from _News of the Galaxy_. “And Commander Spock. How lovely.” 

“Just Acting Captain, I’m afraid,” Jen says, leaning back in her chair and giving the vultures a charming smile. 

They fall for it, too. But they don’t let it distract them. 

“Could you tell us of the extraordinary circumstances that led to you becoming acting captain of Starfleet’s newest ship?” Hortense Ellis wants to know. 

Jen exchanges quick looks with Spock and launches into a careful explanation. 

Captain Pike initially appointed her First Officer to Spock, you see. And then, with his approval, she and Spock traded places, for reasons that will have to remain classified for now, don’t you know? But she’d totally tell them if she could because it’s an interesting story, ha ha. 

“I see,” Hortense says, eyeing her closely. “And why would Captain Pike appoint you as First Officer, when you were not, as far as we know, assigned to the ship at all?” 

Jen smiles, all guileless ease. “I’m afraid you’d have to ask Captain Pike that. I’m just glad to have had a chance to help.” 

This naturally takes them into a Q&A session on the Narada crisis. Partway through it, Jen finds herself relaxing somewhat, because—yes, all right, there are a lot of sharp, pointed questions, but Jen understands why they’re being asked. A lot of the people in front of her are solid professionals from reputable news outlets, whose job it is to keep people in the loop. If Jen were in their business, she’d want to know all of this too, from the horse’s mouth. 

Spock answers some of the questions—especially when it comes to his command decisions—but he’s so reserved a speaker, never giving an inch, that most of the journalists grill Jen, instead. Because she’s much more open, right, and somewhere in all the babble she’s bound to give away some major secrets. 

“Why did you decide to chase Nero to Earth?” a woman in a dark suit asks. 

As far as Jen remembers, this one is from the United News Network. Jen forgot most people’s affiliations pretty much as soon as they introduced themselves, but this one is a well-known figure. 

“Well, once we knew Nero was going to attack Earth next, there weren’t many available options,” Jen says, and spreads her hands in a _what else would you have us do_ gesture. 

It’s not a lie, even though her words imply that they were always going to head for Earth. After all, at the time, they hadn’t been discussing many options—only two, pursuing Nero or meeting up with the rest of the fleet in the Laurentian system. It’s something else that choosing between those two options involved mutiny and onboard violence. 

“And so you saved Earth,” a purple-tentacled reporter says. “But you failed to save Vulcan. Do you harbor any resentment about that, Commander Spock?” 

Jen freezes, because—what the _actual fuck?_  

“Vulcans do not indulge in emotionalism that would facilitate the kind of response you are describing,” Spock says tonelessly. 

Jen can see the tension in the line of his shoulders, belying the calm reply. 

“And yet, everyone is calling this a victory despite the loss of Vulcan,” the tentacled douchebag says. “Does it not provoke a feeling of—” 

“Do you really think this is an appropriate line of questioning?” Jen interrupts, her command voice somehow replacing the friendly notes she’s been using thus far. 

“Captain,” Spock murmurs. 

His facial expression hasn’t changed, but the set of his shoulders has loosened from _near-homicidal rage_ to _Captain, you’re being illogical and imprudent._  

Which, fuck, Jen has been, judging by the avid way the reporters are looking between her and Spock. 

“These are trying times,” Jen says, in an attempt at graceful backpedalling. “The battle may be over, but, as you say, the victory was in many ways a pyrrhic one. Now, more than ever, we need to band together and not… cause needless pain.” 

“Quite, and you and Commander Spock have done it quite admirably, isn’t that right?” a guy in a leather jacket asks, leaning forward toward his screen. “You’ve had a contentious start. Commander, haven’t you brought Captain Kirk on charges of academic misconduct?” 

Jen valiantly tries to contain a wince. Spock, bless him, just blandly says: 

“That is correct.” 

“And yet you’ve saved the world together,” the reporter says. “Captain Kirk, what do you think your father would have said today?” 

Jen clenches her jaw. “I like to think that he would have approved.” 

“Did it feel personal, your confrontation against Nero?” asks a serious-looking Tellarite. 

“No, I—” Jen takes a deep breath. “This conflict was very much not about me, and I cannot take nearly as much credit as you’re giving me,” she says, firmly. “Spock and I are just the tip of the iceberg. I cannot overemphasize the actions of our fellow crewmembers, and, of course, Captain Pike. Credit where credit’s due.” 

“Yes, yes, naturally.” A floaty being with orange eyes gives them an insincere smile. “But ultimately it’s your heroic actions that have saved Earth. How do you go from enemies to a pair of action heroes?” 

Jen knows she should laugh it off, say something flippant, deflect. But she mostly wants to punch the screen and walk away. 

“We were hardly enemies,” she says, short. “We’re on the same side. And we worked together in a crisis, as trained professionals would. I don’t think there’s much to be surprised about.” 

There’s a momentary silence, and Jen slants a glance at Spock. He’s outright _glaring_ at the reporters, who are still gazing back at him and Jen in fascination. 

Brilliant. They’re so good at this publicity thing. 

“You and Commander Spock,” an Asian-looking man asks, narrowing his eyes at them. “Now you get on well, would you say?” 

“Mr. Spock’s competence and breadth of knowledge make him a valued member of the command team,” Jen says without a moment’s thought. 

She can now rattle off shit like this in her sleep, probably. Finally all those report-writing hours are coming in handy. 

“And you, Commander, what would you say?” the reporter asks. 

“Acting Captain Kirk has been performing her duties in a laudable manner,” Spock says, with no inflection whatsoever. 

“No, I mean, how do you and Captain Kirk get along?” the guy pushes. 

“Our interactions are satisfactory,” Spock replies, and his voice says _whereas your question is stupid._  

Jen affixes a smile to her face. 

“We seem to be getting off track,” she says, going for a lighthearted tone. “We’re also running out of time. If there aren’t any more questions about the battle—” 

“When do you anticipate the Enterprise getting home?” Hortense Ellis asks. 

Jen fights the urge to exchange another look with Spock. Uhura has warned them that they should say as little as possible about the ship’s state of disrepair, nor reveal any factual data on the vessel’s condition, since Starfleet Command has not authorized airing this kind of info. Admittedly, Command hasn’t bothered issuing much in the way of guidelines for this, but it doesn’t take a genius to guess that they wouldn’t want sensitive data—pertaining to the flagship vessel’s vulnerability—broadcast far and wide across the galaxy. 

“We’ll be there as soon as we can,” Jen says. 

“Can you be any more specific?” the Tellarite asks. 

“I’m afraid not.” Jen hopes her smile looks apologetic rather than maniacal. “This whole—press thing, it’s irregular as it is, you know. We’ve got to keep some things close to our chest. But believe me, we’re not hanging in these parts a moment longer than necessary.” 

The journalists rush to assure them that the Narada heroes are eagerly awaited back on Earth in any case, and this concludes the interview on a lighter note. When they cut the connection, Jen just sits there for a while, staring at the dark screen. 

“So,” she says at last, and looks over at Spock. “That could have gone worse.” 

Could’ve gone better, too. Pike, had he been in Jen’s place, would probably have managed to put an end to awkward questioning with the force of personality alone. 

Spock gets up from his chair in one fluid motion. 

“This,” he says, a thundering frown on his face _,_ “has hardly been a productive use of our time.” 

Jen can drink to that. 

She can drink—really rather a lot to that, actually. She’s not sure just how much bourbon could possibly erase the experience. 

*** 

After the thrice-damned press conference, dealing with more bureaucratic bullshit is the last thing Jen wants to do, so she claims a very valid engagement down in engineering and sends Spock up to the bridge alone. 

Scotty welcomes her with open arms, and he cares not one whit about interstellar gossip. 

“Captain!” he exclaims, wiping greasy hands on his uniform. “Dive right in! Plenty of work to go ‘round! Careful with this baby over here—” 

The other engineers appear somewhat freaked by Jen’s sudden inclusion in their ranks, and they keep shooting her alarmed looks, like anytime now she might jump up and declare that she wants to invade Romulus or launch a singing contest or something equally outlandish. 

It is all the more satisfying to see glimmers of respect in their eyes a couple of hours later. 

“Wasting your talents in that captain’s chair, you are, ma’am,” a young lieutenant tells her. He looks vaguely familiar, and Jen wonders whether he might not be another cadet who used to pass her by in the halls of Starfleet Academy, back in another life. 

“What can I say.” Jen’s lips twitch. “Some of us are just good at everything.” 

This gets answering smiles on the faces of Jen’s colleagues, but the moment is broken when her comm beeps. She grimaces. 

“Kirk here.” 

Spock’s voice rings out like a reminder of all the problems she’s left behind while immersing herself in repairs. “Captain, your presence is requested on the bridge.” 

Of course it is. It’s been a whole two hours. Naturally, a catastrophe has occurred while Jen was gone. “I’ll be right there.” 

“Thanks for your help here, Captain,” another one of the engineers says, and seems genuinely regretful to see her leave. 

“Keptin on the bridge!” Chekov announces sunnily when Jen walks in. 

“Captain.” Spock turns to face her, and he’s more lively than she’s seen him in days. This has her full attention snapping to him even before he continues: “I have estimated the length of time it will take us to reach Starbase 411, should Mr. Scott’s plan work out as intended.” 

Jen forgoes her chair and heads directly for the science station. “And?” 

“I believe we could dock there in one week and five days,” Spock says. 

Jen beams at him. 

“Seriously?” She bends down to look at the numbers. “Jesus, Spock—that would be—shit, that’s amazing.” 

Under two weeks. They can do that. Jen is sure they can do that. 

“However, the chance of success remains at 38.45 percent,” Spock stresses, and Jen deflates a little. 

Right. The technical details. 

She chews on her lip as her eyes roam over the screen at Spock’s console. “Reschedule things to put you, me and Chekov to work in engineering as much as possible? Or just me and Chekov, if you want. And anyone else who you think might be helpful. I mean, they’re seriously understaffed down there, Spock, and they’re kinda holding our lives in their hands.” 

Spock nods, thoughtful. “Understood, Captain.” 

In his quarters after the shift, Spock replicates a fragrant vegetable dish for himself and gets a plate for Jen as well. She’s no idea what she’s eating—it’s got turquoise eggplant-like things in it, whatever it is—but it’s tasty, so she munches along as Spock explains the new duty roster. 

He has in fact ended up scheduling himself, Jen and Chekov for engineering quite a lot. Jen and Spock’s main tasks on the Enterprise will have to stay what they are now, of course, but, depending on what Scotty has to say in a few days, Chekov might be reassigned to engineering full-time for the rest of their trip. 

Jen can already imagine what Scotty’s reaction will be. If they’re not careful, he’ll try to lure the Russian whizz kid into engineering forever. 

“Listen, speaking of repairs.” Jen pushes her plate away. “Given how important this project of ours is, and how a saboteur may be running around the ship, do you think it’s a good idea to… keep what we’re doing under wraps?” 

Spock draws his eyebrows. “I do not follow your meaning, Captain.” 

“Well.” Jen leans back in her chair. “I was thinking, if we start cutting power to some sections of the ship, people are bound to notice. You generally give your crew heads-up about shit like that.” 

“And you propose not doing so?” Spock ascertains. 

“No, not exactly.” Jen stares at the bright blue traces on her plate. “Just… I can announce that we’re attempting repairs, which is true, and that we’re gonna be cutting power to places, which is also true. But we don’t have to say that we’re hoping this will be the crucial thing that will save us and let us get to Starbase 411 intact.” 

Spock gives this a moment’s thought, head tilted to the side. 

“It may be a prudent course of action,” he acknowledges, which, wow, gushing praise. 

“No need to feed information to the fucker or fuckers unknown, right?” Jen gives Spock a dark grin and gets up to take the dishes away. “Right, so that’s done. Should we get started on everything else?” 

Everything else takes them to way past midnight, at which point Jen starts falling asleep with her eyes open. Spock’s response to that consists of pissy faces and sharp looks, and finally, the memory of last night prominent in her mind, Jen agrees to take a nap. 

Spock has strict instructions to wake her in case of anything, but of course he lets her sleep till morning, because these days he’s apparently counting Jen’s health on his list of concerns. Then again, she probably shouldn’t talk, given that she’s keeping track of his sleeping patterns, or lack thereof. 

“You,” she says, yawning and pointing a finger at him, “look like shit, Commander. Sometime soon, I’m gonna tell you to go the hell to sleep, and I’ll make it an order.” 

Spock looks singularly unimpressed by the threat when Jen ambles past him to the shower. 

*** 

Within five minutes of walking onto the bridge, Jen realizes that she, quite literally, woke up infamous this morning. 

She went to bed infamous, probably, given that many articles in the press bear the timestamp of sometime yesterday, in some cases seemingly minutes after the interview. But last night, most of the crew had yet to come across the news. By now, apparently everyone on the ship has read and assimilated what the likes of gossip-mongering Hortense Ellis have to say. 

Evidently, the story—of how a young pretty cadet and a tall dark Vulcan have saved the world together—has received a new twist. _A Star-Crossed Romance?_ questions one headline. _Psychologist: Romance “Life-Affirming” in Battle Conditions,_ another front page states. Yet another one predicts _Happy Ending for Narada Heroes._

“Oh my god,” Jen says, staring aghast at her PADD. 

The interviews themselves are… fairly faithful, actually. Her quotes come through just as she’d said them, and Spock’s statements are as monosyllabic as they were on the day. But in between all that, Jen and Spock are apparently exchange _meaningful glances_ and _studiously refrain from touching each other._ They’re so in sync they might as well be communicating telepathically. Jen rushes to Spock’s defence at the slightest provocation, and the way Spock says _captain_ comes across as unmistakably affectionate. 

Jen rubs the bridge of her nose and wonders how much of the good stuff you have to be on to read all of that into their interactions and be bold-faced enough to put it in print. 

And that would still be okay, really, except that, over at his station, Spock stands motionless and silently radiates enough tension to power a medium-sized town. Uhura is very near fuming, Sulu keeps looking back and forth between Jen and Spock, and Chekov wears the expression of a guy who would just like everyone to get along and be friends. 

Which is great. Jen has so wanted her non-existent love life to disrupt her work. 

“If anyone’s looking for me, I’ll be in engineering,” she announces. “Spock, you’ve got the bridge. I’m gonna lend Scotty a hand with the… everything.” 

Spock looks really pumped to be stuck on the bridge while she goes off gallivanting around the ship, but Jen figures that he can make his own excuses if he wants to. 

Her bad mood only escalates over the course of the day. 

From the constant stares to Sulu’s awkward _but won’t you get in trouble with the admiralty,_ this feels more or less like a conspiracy to drive Jen mad with frustration. 

“I swear to god,” she erupts the moment she and Spock are alone, “the next person who as much as looks at me sideways, I’ll—” 

“Captain,” Spock chides, his tone entirely too calm for a man embroiled in a rumored affair with his superior officer. “Our time would be better spent focusing on actual problems we face, and I fail to see how this regrettable circumstance—” 

“You fail to see, huh?” Jen repeats, throwing her PADD on the desk in his quarters with a loud clank. “You honestly don’t get what this means, do you, Spock?” 

He straightens his spine and locks his hands behind his back. “Enlighten me.” 

“All that shit about us, everything they’re saying?” Jen gestures at the door. “It’s going to bite us in the ass, hard.” Spock seems about to say something, but Jen steamrolls right over him: “The crew are going to question us, our decisions. They’re going to look back and wonder if you demoted yourself and left me captain because I’d charmed the pants off of you. Or they’ll remember how we fought, how you tried to—they’re going to wonder if you’ve intimidated me into this relationship, somehow—” 

“Captain—” 

“We’re going to be _less_ to them, they’re going to respect us less, and I need every goddamn shred of respect I can get. I know I’m not their real captain, alright, I need to look as competent as possible, and I don’t want my vagina brought into my command decisions, because I’ve dealt with that bullshit so often already, and—” 

“Captain.” Spock steps us to her, fixes her with a level gaze. “Jen. I believe it is my turn to tell you that all will be well.” 

Jen clenches her teeth and takes a deep breath. “Right.” 

She looks away and tries to swallow around the freakout that’s still bubbling its way up her throat. 

“I think it unlikely that the situation will turn as dire as you predict,” Spock tells her. “The crew of this ship have accepted you as their captain, and I doubt that your alleged choice of a romantic partner will change that perception. Your command decisions, so far, have saved the lives of this crew and prevented the destruction of the planet Earth. I find it implausible that they will soon forget it.” 

Jen stares at Spock. This is about the closest he’s ever come to complimenting her, or acknowledging out loud that she was right during their fight over what to do after the attack on Vulcan. 

It’s—huh. It spreads an odd warmth through Jen’s chest to hear the implied message that he, too, now accepts her as captain and trusts her decisions. 

She smiles, even though it comes out a little weak. Yeah. She’s the badass captain. She can do it, whatever it is—fighting time-travelling Romulans or facing up to unfortunate rumors. 

“How upset is Uhura?” she asks, because that’s been on her mind today, too. “I mean, you guys are dating, right?” 

Spock and Uhura are so discreet, Jen wouldn’t have known they were an item if she hadn’t been in the transporter room for that kiss, and if Spock hadn’t turned to her, so earnest, and said _in the event that I do not return, please tell Lieutenant Uhura—_  

“She does not find the situation ideal,” Spock says, once more displaying his gift for understatement. “But she was not entirely taken aback. I understand there has been interest in the press prior to our interview.” 

“Yeah.” Jen drops down into a chair. “Bones told me we were famous. But now they’re saying that we’re actually—together.” 

Spock tilts his head to the side, as if to say, _and your point is?_  

“You could probably give another interview, you know,” Jen tells him. “Say it’s Uhura you’re actually with.” 

Spock’s face freezes in an expression of disdain. “I see no need to explain myself or air the details of my private life to the public.” 

Which, well, figures. 

“Then let’s just hope the whole thing blows over soon.” Jen sighs and reaches out for her PADD. “Anyway. Where were we?” 

*** 

Jen sits back in the command chair and reads over Scotty’s latest briefing on the state of power redistribution. 

So far, Scotty and his team have shut down several cargo holds, science labs and are now getting to cutting off the auxiliary bridge. There have been a few hiccups—yesterday, Jen was present for one of those—but on the whole, the engines seem to be running smoother, faster, the Enterprise sailing through space like the ship that she is and not the tin can she has resembled since the battle. 

Jen’s cautiously optimistic when she reports to the admiralty: 

“If everything works out as it should, we ought to arrive at Starbase 411 in a week’s time.” 

Of course, this is when everything goes to shit. 

With no warning, all lights on the bridge suddenly flash and go out, and the doors hiss shut. A siren starts blaring, the computer warns them of the damage to life support in the area, and smoke is coming out of _somewhere._  

Jen jumps up from her chair. Through the fumes and the eerie red of the warning lights, she sees her colleagues do the same. Chekov—yet to be replaced by another navigator—is in his seat, jabbing furiously at some buttons on his console. 

“Scotty!” Jen yells into the comm. “You were supposed to shut off the auxiliary bridge, not the main one!” 

“That’s not us, Captain!” Scotty shouts back. “This ain’t nothing on our end—hold on, I’ll be right there!” 

Holding on is easier said than done, but luckily they’ve got three technical geniuses on the bridge and one arriving soon. 

“Let’s see if we can jam whatever program is running against us here,” Jen barks. “Chekov, Sulu—” 

The pilot and the navigator rip out the panel in front of Chekov’s seat, and Chekov drops down to fiddle with some wires. Jen gets in on the action, crouching next to Chekov, while Spock is working on a panel over on the other side of the bridge. 

Breathing becomes a challenge after a couple of minutes. Jen fills her lungs with air and tries to hold it as long as possible; she sees Chekov doing the same, his face clearly communicating his refusal to let little problems like oxygen bother him. 

He seems to really know what he’s doing. Jen gets back up to the main console and frantically types in several commands, bypassing the security protocols. She just needs to get the life support back on, by fair means or foul— 

There’s a sudden flash of electricity from Spock’s side of the bridge, and Chekov yelps out a curse in Russian as his wires apparently do something unexpected in response. 

“My apologies,” Spock says quickly, but Chekov only makes an unidentifiable noise. 

“Keptin, I can turn everything off, do you—” 

“Give me five seconds,” Jen rasps out, and starts typing faster. “Okay, now, do it now.” 

The bridge goes dark. 

The siren shuts up, the warning lights blaze no more, and smoke—actually, smoke has stopped clouding in a while ago, since whatever Spock had done. 

There are a few tense seconds in which carbon dioxide thickens in the air and Jen’s not sure they haven’t done more harm than good— 

And then Chekov gasps, “Reconnecting.” 

The bridge lights back to life, but Jen’s only got eyes for the console in front of her. She watches as it reboots running the subroutine she has hastily programed, and now— 

Now, at least, they’ve got fresh air coming in. 

There’s a collective breath of relief, and Jen slumps slightly against the console even as Chekov straightens out next to her, giving her a toothy smile. 

The bridge’s still wrecked, the unknown hack is still running, and they’re still locked in. 

But Jen can see Scotty outside, working his magic already, and she knows they’ll be fine. 

Chekov is a little singed from the cables, Uhura is clenching her jaw hard enough to cause severe dental problems, and even Spock is rumpled, but by dint of their collective awesomeness they’ve managed not to die. Jen counts this a win. 

“Now what in the buggering fuck was _that?”_ Scotty asks, scowling, once he’s worked the doors open and made sure that the bridge isn’t likely to conk out on them again. 

Jen and Spock look at each other, then at the rest of the team. 

“We may have a problem,” Jen says. 

“We may?” Scotty repeats. “I cannae says I didn’t _notice.”_  

“Well, if this wasn’t the work of your band of merry engineers,” Jen says, “I can think of one other possibility right off the bat.” 

“The saboteur?” Sulu asks. 

“It could be,” Jen agrees. “It could also be that they’ve made a mistake this time. Spock—” 

“Yes, Captain,” Spock says, and Jen knows he’s already started looking for possible clues. 

“That’s my cue to leave, I suppose,” Scotty says, shaking his head. “This ship, I swear. Not a dull moment.” 

A few hours later, Chekov is still elbow-deep in wires, Bones calls Jen with reprimands for not telling him about nearly getting killed, and about ten thousand reports have come in from engineering. All of this leaves very little time for Jen to look for the actual culprits behind the attack, and just the very thought of inquiring about the alibis of the security people makes her vaguely sick. 

Spock, thankfully, has borne the brunt of the investigation—not that he’s unearthed much. 

“The one thing we can say for certain is that the unknown person or persons behind the strike must possess advanced knowledge of programming, engineering and mathematics to breach the defences of the command bridge this way,” he tells Jen, stopping by her chair. 

“Oh good. Not just a hidden attacker—a clever one,” Jen says, twisting her mouth. “And still no sign of an intruder onboard.” 

“Indeed not,” Spock confirms. 

“But this narrows the field a lot, right?” Jen points out. “I mean, a random person without a serious education in these things couldn’t have hacked into the bridge. So we’re looking at an expert.” 

“I am unable to reconcile your relieved attitude with the discovery that our adversary is extremely intelligent,” Spock says, tilting his head to the side. 

Jen raises her eyes to him. “Well, this likely clears most of security, right? They don’t have this kind of background? Unless, of course, someone from there is in collusion with our mystery expert.” Jen scowls. So much for clearing Cupcake. “Dammit.” 

Spock pierces her with a look. It’s his no-nonsense look which announces that he’s planning to hang on to this matter until he gets satisfactory answers. 

“You were suspecting somebody in particular.” 

“No,” Jen says firmly. “I wasn’t suspecting anybody, don’t go putting words into my mouth, Spock.” 

“But there is a specific person you would like to declare innocent.” Spock narrows his eyes. “Someone from security.” 

“No, I’d just like to know that security hasn’t been compromised!” Jen glares. “Come on, you know it’s important. I’d rather see negligence and violation of protocol than actual malice aforethought from them, okay?” 

Spock regards her for a couple of moments, and then concedes the point with a nod. 

“Do we have any clues or leads at all, though?” Jen asks. “Cause I don’t see anything here that’s exactly helpful.” 

“I regret to say that neither do I.” 

“Fantastic,” Jen mutters. 

Looking around absently, she realizes that the most of the bridge crew had been gazing at them, riveted, this whole time. 

Of course. How could Jen have forgotten her and Spock’s deep and abiding love even for a moment? After all, it’s much more likely that they were arranging an illicit rendezvous on the bridge than, y’know, actually talking about ship business. 

Damn it all to hell. This could become—an actual problem. 

*** 

“Spock,” Jen says, bracing against the table in his quarters. “I think we should introduce new rules.” 

“Please be so kind as to elucidate your meaning,” Spock says, pausing by the computer terminal. “What rules did you wish to change?” 

Jen rubs her nose. 

“There’s an awful lot of talk about the two of us.” 

Spock raises and eyebrow like, _you are being illogical, again, and it pains me especially much when you’re illogical before dinner._  

“So maybe we should make more of an effort not to… fan the flames, as it were,” Jen says. 

Spock just glares at the use of the metaphor. His look telegraphs that he’s too tired to deal with this shit right now. 

“Maybe we should talk less,” Jen clarifies, sighing. “See each other less. Walk around together less and, I don’t know, no longer meet up in private.” 

Spock frowns. “You wish to decrease the efficiency of our work.” 

“No,” Jen says, patient. “But has it not occurred to you that we are kind of… joined at the hip, lately? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m glad we’re… whatever we are now.” She thinks they are, incredibly, on their way to becoming friends, not that she’d say so out loud. “But I think we might not be helping the whole gossip situation. I mean, look at us.” 

“You believe that our colleagues would perceive your presence here in a salacious light,” Spock says in the tone of a man who has finally solved a puzzle. 

Jen stares at him. “Spock, our colleagues perceive our talking on the bridge in a salacious light. It doesn’t take much, at the moment.” 

Spock regards her in silence. 

“It is illogical to base your behavior on potentially erroneous perceptions of other individuals,” he informs her. 

Jen blows out a breath and actually settles on the corner of the table, ignoring Spock’s disapproving frown. 

“Okay, Spock, then how about this? You and I know that we’re doing nothing but working till we drop, but the whole galaxy seems to think we’re fucking. The people who have been exposed to that crazy idea include, a, your girlfriend, b, our superiors. _None of these are people to whom we want to give this impression.”_  

Spock stands stock still. 

“You believe this rumor could have repercussions for our careers,” he ascertains. 

Jen throws up her hands. 

“I’m going to ignore the bit where you didn’t respond to my subtle question about Uhura. But what do you think, Spock? Starfleet have no clue what to do with me right now. You, you might be safe, I don’t know, but you weren’t the one who weaselled your way onto a ship while on academic probation and proceeded to seize control. I know that the Enterprise is like the only happy point on the post-Nero landscape, so I’m technically one of the few things providing good news, but you bet Command are glad to have something on me in case they need to shuffle me out.” 

Spock takes a step towards her, eyebrows drawn. “You have considered the matter in some detail.” 

“Oh yeah, I’ve thought about this,” Jen says, voice hard. “Why give me the floor at the press conference? Well, it’s no skin off their nose, is it? I’m not even authorized to be onboard. I fuck up, it’s on me. Give them more reason to recycle me if they want to get rid of the pesky cadet who’s causing all this confusion.” 

An indecipherable look passes over Spock’s face, and then his expression settles into a faintly mulish moue. 

He doesn’t like this, clearly. But he can’t contest the logic of Jen’s conclusions. 

“The Admiralty can hardly expect me to go along with such a plan,” he says. “Nor do I believe that a formal investigation into a potential fraternization charge would bear any fruit.” 

Jen snorts. “Spock, for all they know, you hate me, and _you_ ’ve still got charges standing against me back at home.” 

Spock’s expression doesn’t change. “I do not hate you.” 

“I know.” Jen gives him a smile, and pretends that she doesn’t feel better for hearing that. “But they don’t, right? They’ve got no idea what’s really going on aboard this ship, except that it’s a madhouse somehow.” 

“Captain.” Spock’s eyes bore into Jen’s. “You should be aware that I do not plan to pursue my original charges against you. While I cannot condone cheating—” He looks away. “—perhaps on that occasion, it would be more accurately classified as creatively utilizing all possible resources.” 

Jen stares, caught off-guard. She has to swallow past an obstruction in her throat before she manages: 

“Thank you, Spock.” 

Spock only nods in response and drops his gaze to the floor, as if there is something fascinating to be found there. 

Jen slides awkwardly off her perch on the table. “While we’re talking about this… Spock, you do know that I didn’t mean any of the awful things I said to you when I got back from Delta Vega?” 

Spock’s spine immediately stiffens, but Jen makes herself continue. She strives to imbue her voice with all the sincerity she has. 

“I hope you know that I’m really, really sorry.” 

Spock nods, once again. His voice is lower than normal when he says, “My own actions were… unforgivable. I am gratified that I have not caused you permanent injury.” 

Jen shakes her head. “No, Spock, you know me. Resilient like a cockroach.” 

Spock raises his head, an eyebrow twisted up. “A cockroach, Captain? Hardly a flattering comparison.” 

“Hey, whatever works, right?” Jen grins. 

Spock favors her with an unimpressed look, the kind he tends to give her when he finds her secretly amusing. But the moment of levity passes quickly, and then Spock is frowning again. 

“Captain, if your assumptions are correct, then perhaps we indeed ought to take more care with outward appearances. Any semblance of fraternization would doubtless be detrimental to your case, and possibly mine, as well.” 

Yeah. No kidding. 

This is serious, and Jen recognizes that. She knows her career is hanging in the balance here. 

And yet, right now, she can’t help the warm feeling that spreads through her at the thought that she’s not alone in this; that Spock’s on her side, and he seems to genuinely care for her well-being the way few people have. 

Maybe the elder Spock’s predictions weren’t that far off. Maybe she and Spock can be friends, and maybe they’ll be brilliant. 

*** 

Unsurprisingly, the world doesn’t stop turning the moment Jen and Spock make an effort to be distant with each other, nor does the ship fall apart. But, the very next day, the atmosphere on the bridge undergoes a drastic change. 

Until now, Jen hadn’t realized how much she and Spock normally talk. When Scotty comms her with the latest updates, Jen automatically turns to catch Spock’s eye only to remember that, hey, should they still be doing this? She’s not sure where the new lines ought to be drawn, so she’s tense when she addresses Spock, and he’s stonily polite back. 

“Mr. Spock,” Jen says, having finished her call with Scotty, “have you made any more progress with the mystery saboteur?” 

Jen feels weird asking it like this, from her seat and under the curious gazes of the entire team, but would it be even stranger if she came up to his station to talk to him in private? Did it used to feed the rumors that, just a day ago, she’d have leaned towards him and murmured for his ears only, _hey, Spock, so you come up with anything?_  

“Unfortunately, not, Captain,” Spock says, and turns to face her, impassive. If he’s feeling awkward at all, Jen can’t tell. 

“Right.” Jen glances at her PADD. “Well, I’ll forward you security’s latest report.” 

There, that didn’t sound too stilted and formal, surely. 

But Sulu still flits his gaze between them, confused, and Chekov’s replacement Legrine looks like she’s busy concocting melodramatic explanations for the scene. 

By lunch, the awkwardness on the bridge has ratcheted up to the point that even the most socially inept person would notice. Sadly, Jen is surrounded by extremely bright individuals. 

When in doubt, she employs her best tactic: evasive maneuvers. 

“Spock, take over, I’m off to engineering,” Jen announces. “Let me know if something blows up.” 

In the event, Jen gets waylaid three times on the way to see Commander Graff. The first of these is by security’s Commander Giotto, who wants to discuss—again—what safety measures are being implemented to keep the likes of yesterday’s strike from happening again. Then there’s a minor emergency when an ensign has a panic attack in a Jefferies tube, and after that Jen faces the task of rescuing several nurses from behind doors that have frozen locked with no apparent prompting. 

She’s only started on her meeting with Commander Graff when Spock comms her. 

“Captain,” he says, voice urgent, “there’s an unscheduled power outage on deck three, and we’re not sure it’s not a systems overload—” 

“On my way,” Jen says, and sets off at a sprint. 

It takes four hours to sort out the snafu on deck three and make sure it’s not something that spreads. Luckily, the outage is coincidental and not indicative of a larger problem, but four hours still pass in a haze of tension, because if Scotty’s plan is backfiring now, they’re all fucked. 

By the end of it, Jen is exhausted, the short night catching up with her and the recent anxiety giving way to tiredness that seeps deep into her bones. 

But, down in her new quarters after the shift, she can’t sleep. Couldn’t last night, either. Jen’s tired enough to drop where she stands, but her brain just won’t shut up when she actually gets under the covers. 

Maybe it’s the unfamiliar room, procured, after a tiresome search, from among the lower officers’ quarters. Maybe it’s the strange smell of the pillow someone else has slept on, before she moved in; someone who is dead now. Maybe it’s how much Jen is juggling, every day, and how much of it is riding on faith. 

 _Jen_ is no captain; she’s a cadet not yet out of the academy. She took charge because she felt she had to, in that crisis, and not because she thought herself qualified. The idea of all these lives in her hands— 

Horror scenarios and contingency plans keep running through her head as she stares into the dark ceiling, and when she does actually manage to slip into a fitful doze, her subconscious picks up the slack. It could just be that she’s starting to process the recent trauma, but the nightmares are— 

Well, the waking fears are better. In the real world, some things have already not come to pass; some disasters have been definitively averted. 

Jen sighs, sits up in bed and gives up on sleep for another night.

“Computer, lights at 60 percent,” she murmurs, reaching for the PADD on her nightstand. 

On the bright side, she’ll get more work done. 

*** 

“I estimate that our efficiency has gone down 24.3 percent in the past three days compared to normal,” Spock informs Jen a couple of days later. 

Spock looks like shit. Whatever he’s been doing in his room now that he’s got it all to himself, he’s clearly not sleeping. Jen, swaying gently on her feet, can definitely sympathize. 

“Our normal,” she says, “was not normal by any stretch of the imagination.” 

Sure, they made a better command team when they lived in each other’s pockets and constantly checked in on each other’s whereabouts and had their towels hanging next to each other’s in the bathroom. But calling that normal is a bit generous, really. 

“We’re doing this for a good reason,” Jen adds. 

Not that their increased-distance policy seems to be having any effect whatsoever. The media is still churning out wildly speculative articles, Chekov gazes at Jen and Spock like they’re his divorcing parents and he doesn’t understand how it could all have gone so wrong, and the gossip hasn’t abated in the slightest. 

Not according to Uhura, anyway.

“Kirk,” she calls out as she spots Jen leaving the canteen after lunch.

“Uhura,” Jen acknowledges.

Uhura falls in step with Jen on the way to the turbolift. She clearly has something to say—Jen’s no idea what, and she’s too tired to wonder—but doesn’t start talking until they’re shooting upwards to the bridge.

“If this recent show of coldness between you and Spock is meant to end the rumors, I have to tell you that you’re failing miserably,” Uhura says, voice brisk, and presses the stop button.

“Great,” Jen replies, leaning against the wall. “I love your progress reports.”

Uhura tilts her head to the side. “ _Is_ that what you’re trying to achieve?”

“Well, not being romantically tied to your boyfriend would be kind of good,” Jen says, bland. 

“And yet, I think I heard someone speculating about baby names just now,” Uhura replies. 

Jen blinks and then fights to open her eyes again. Blinking is nice. It’s like mini-sleep. 

“Aren’t you mad?” she thinks to ask. “About this whole… me and Spock thing? Why aren’t you just hitting everyone in the face and telling them the truth?” 

Uhura looks at Jen like she’s wondering what’s wrong with her. “Yes, Kirk, that’s how I like to go about solving my problems. I hit everyone in the face. But it explains a lot that you consider this to be a viable option.” 

“Yeah, whatever.” Jen yawns. “You were saying, earlier?” 

Uhura doesn’t speak up for a moment. Then: 

“Kirk, are you okay?” She’s peering closely at Jen and looking, wow, sort of discomfited there. 

“Sure.” Jen waves a hand. “I’m fine, I’m just—coffee will kick in any moment now. Hit me with it, what did you want to talk about?” 

Uhura takes a deep breath. 

“Command allowed that interview with you and Spock for a reason. I don’t know if you’ve been reading the news, but you and Spock are—you’re big. The kind of big that you’re not just going to quash by being more formal with him on the bridge.” 

“Right.” Jen pushes stray hair out of her face. 

“And from what I can tell, the brass don’t want you to quash it.” Having delivered that little bombshell, Uhura clenches her jaw and looks resolutely ahead. 

Jen stares. “What?” 

“At the beginning, when the rumors first started to circulate, Starfleet tried to deny them.” Uhura gives an impatient twitch of the shoulder. “You’re both professional officers, there’s no need for slander, and so on. But now? Not a peep from them.” Uhura’s eyes glitter dangerously. “They are happy about this, Kirk. It’s playing right into their hands.” 

“Right into—” Jen closes her mouth. “Oh, okay. You mean that, if they let the idea of us _fraternizing_ take root, they have something to hold over us in case they need to shuffle us out?” 

Uhura looks stunned. 

“Kirk, they’re not going to do that,” she says. 

“Oh yeah, I’m sure they’re eager to keep me on, for one, what with my record.” Jen gives a bitter smile. “I’m under no illusions here, Uhura.” 

“Kirk, I don’t think you understand,” Uhura says. She’s looking at Jen again like she can’t believe anyone can be so off-base. 

“Then explain it to me, Lieutenant,” Jen bites out. “What don’t I understand?” 

“You don’t see the bigger picture,” Uhura says. 

Jen slumps against the elevator wall. “Sure.” 

“Listen to me,” Uhura says. The urgency in her voice makes Jen look at her despite herself, and Uhura’s gaze traps her, keeps her focus. “The Narada crisis, it’s… horrifying, from Starfleet’s point of view. It’s politically damaging beyond anything you can imagine. Nero blew right past our defences and nearly destroyed Earth in addition to Vulcan. Ordinary citizens knew how close they came to dying. There was widespread _panic_ , Kirk, and Starfleet was desperate for anything to show to the public, anything to distract them from the criticism.” 

Jen finally looks away. “Yeah, and then there was the Enterprise. I get it, I’ve read those press briefs.” 

“No, I don’t think you get it,” Uhura says with a firm shake of her head. “They were grasping at straws, do you realize? And then you and Spock and the Enterprise, you gave them a beautiful, heroic story, the kind of tale that people across cultures and generations can understand. You gave them a _legend.”_

Jen fights off a shiver at the way Uhura says it. Maybe it’s because, in all the legends she’s read, the protagonists have hardly had it easy. 

“Love was the only thing missing in your story, and so people added it in. Because it fit. Because that’s how such stories always go.” Uhura juts her chin forward. Now, once again, she looks angry. “And Starfleet? They know they can’t do anything to you and Spock, not while you’re so popular. Not while you’re the symbols of victory, and your love is larger than life. But they also know they can use it. They have, and they will in the future.” 

Jen closes her eyes. “So you’re saying—” 

“This doesn’t end here, Kirk. This legend will be something you’ll have to live. Something _I_ will have to live.” Uhura’s tone is sharp like broken glass. “This, what we’re dealing with now? It’s nothing, Kirk. When we get to that starbase, when we get back on Earth, we won’t just hear whispers in corridors. We’ll hear it shouted from the rooftops, and we’ll have to smile for the goddamn cameras.” 

“I’m sorry,” Jen says, helpless. “Uhura, I—” 

“Yes,” Uhura says, and presses the button to restart the turbolift. “So am I.” Then, just before the doors have opened to the bridge: “I just thought you should know. Captain.” 

She strides away, head high, back straight, ponytail swishing with each step, and Jen wonders blearily how she bears it. How any of them will bear it, when the time comes. 

*** 

“Why was Uhura never in your room when I hung out there?” Jen asks. 

It’s late at night, and she and Spock are both running on reserve battery power. If Jen doesn’t keep talking, she might fall asleep right in the wires she’s untangling. 

Spock doesn’t pause in his work on the console beside her. 

“It would hardly be considered professional behavior should Lieutenant Uhura and I indulge in private interactions during work time,” he says, and the fact that he’s responding at all has Jen blinking up at him. 

Spock’s greyish around the edges and looking more or less like a ghost. He’s certainly rocking that unfinished business vibe. 

Clearly it’s the best time for heart-to-hearts. 

“You’re not always on shift,” Jen offers. “I’ve told you before that you should totally be with her in your free time.” 

“My copious free time, indeed,” Spock says coolly. “I believe you were there with me, Captain. How much free time do you estimate we have had since leaving Terra?” 

Jen blows out a breath. “Come on, this is different. You _make_ time for commitments like that.” 

“Lieutenant Uhura and I are both professionals,” Spock repeats, like it’s the end of discussion. 

Jen winces as a live wire nearly grazes her hand. “You’re also in a relationship. You need each other’s support at times like these.” 

“Quite the contrary,” Spock says. “What I need, at the moment, is to devote my attention to my duties and make sure that everyone is performing admirably.” 

Jen rubs her forehead with a free hand. Burying feelings in work; Jen gets that. She won’t say it’s healthy, but she gets that. The shitty part is, though, that— 

“Does Uhura need the same thing?” she asks. 

Because Uhura doesn’t seem like the type. She’s a communications officer, for god’s sake; in all the time Jen’s known her—admittedly, not very well—Uhura has tended to solve issues by discussing them, not by heaping on layers of denial. 

Spock gives an extra hard wrench at the bit of paneling before him, and huh, maybe Jen is prodding at a sore subject here. 

“Lieutenant Uhura has to acknowledge that, during the crisis, our personal relationship led to several lapses in performing our duties,” he says. “Something that we can ill afford, in the present circumstances.” 

Jen stares; she can’t help it. “What lapses?” 

“I believe you were present for our… unseemly display in the transporter room,” Spock says. “And the lieutenant has abandoned her station for my sake, without assigning a replacement, at least once during the crisis. Such behavior reflects poorly on both of us.” 

“Jesus, Spock,” Jen says. “That’s a bit harsh.” 

“It is also nothing that directly concerns you, Captain,” Spock says. 

Which, true. But Jen still remembers how drawn Uhura had looked there, in the turbolift, and wonders just how hard it’s been for her all this time. 

“And here I thought you requested joint assignments to this ship in a romantic gesture,” Jen says, almost absently. “You know, to serve together as a battle couple.” 

“I wished for the contrary,” Spock says, still sounding like he’d rather suffer Mulveran mud flea bites than have this conversation. “But Lieutenant Uhura insisted on a post here due to this vessel’s advanced technology. It is equipped with Starfleet’s best communication systems.” 

Jen blinks at the wires in her hands. Right. Communications systems. 

That’s it. That’s her done offering unsolicited relationship counseling to people she never has a chance to understand. 

“However, I am grateful that we are both onboard the Enterprise,” Spock says suddenly, voice softer. “The lieutenant’s initial assignment was on the Farragut. Had she not insisted on the last-minute change, she would not be alive today.” 

Jen stills. She had not known that. 

“That’s a narrow escape,” she says quietly. 

The Farragut. 

Gaila was assigned to the Farragut, too. Only she never switched ships. Neither did—a lot of other people. 

Jen’s been trying not to think about that, all the cadets on the other vessels, her friends and classmates and rivals lost in Nero’s attack. She simply can’t do this right now _;_ it’s enough that she has to compile the lists of the dead crewmembers from the Enterprise. 

She’ll take the time to grieve, later. 

Much later. 

Though, if she’s lucky, the extent of the loss will never hit her at all. Maybe she can forever pretend that they are all still out there, in space, on a life-long mission, exploring distant stars and discovering new worlds. 

Jen blinks moisture out of her eyes, takes a deep breath and returns to her wires. 

She and Spock have this in common, at least: both of them would rather do than feel, and rather work for twenty hours straight than take a moment to break down. 

Clinging on to sanity by whatever means they’ve got. 

If they say they do this for the sake of the ship, it even sounds very near fair enough. 

*** 

Jen is tired, and she slips up. This is her fourth day sleep-deprived and running on fumes, and, most importantly, even with everything that’s been going on, she’s not anticipating an assault. 

It’s two a.m., and she’s heading back to her room from the lower decks. She just takes a step into a dark corridor, finally leaving the area she’s just helped to power off— 

Then, she sees a dark shape lunge at her, whirls around to face her attacker—and feels a familiar pain bloom from her shoulder as her nerves scream in protest. 

And after that, nothing. 

When Jen comes to, she’s dangling in the iron hold of a man who has a knife to her throat and is ranting at someone in enraged Vulcan. 

Jen squints, trying to gain her bearings. She appears to be downstairs in the Vulcan enclave of the Enterprise, in one of the conference rooms-cum-refugee shelters. A crowd surrounds her and the unknown assailant, and right in front of her stand Sarek and Spock, at whom the passionate diatribe is apparently aimed. 

Sarek’s poker face is impeccable, but Spock is looking deathly pale. 

Jen tries to mobilize her very basic Vulcan—she thinks she hears the word _kill,_ which doesn’t sound very encouraging—but then, a split second later, the universal translator in her comm crackles to life. 

“… responsible for the death of millions, and dares to pretend he does not owe a debt of blood!” 

The crowd watches, silent, from the sidelines. Jen recognizes the Vulcan elders in several robe-clad figures in the back, but they, too, don’t make a move to intervene. 

“A’Nokk, you allow your emotions to override your judgement,” Sarek says in a severe tone. “We should unite in the face of the tragedy facing our people, not point the finger of blame where it does not belong.” 

“Of course you’d defend him!” Jen’s captor retorts. “And yet it is _his_ fault that our home is no more, and millions of bonds have been severed in the space of a moment. The Romulan Nero was looking specifically for your son, seeking to punish him for his crimes, but the pain is for us all to bear!” 

“I grieve just as you do, A’Nokk,” Spock says, voice tightly controlled. 

“You brought this upon us, and you shall pay!” A’Nokk replies, growling in Jen’s ear, and it’s then that Jen fully comprehends what’s going on. 

She comprehends, and she’s aghast. To accuse _Spock_ of being at fault for the enormous tragedy that has taken place— 

Rage forcing out the last of her disorientation, Jen tries to twist in A’Nokk’s grasp, leaning away from the knife and attempting to hit him in the groin. She hears an alarmed _Captain!_ but has no time to look at Spock as her captor’s arms tighten painfully around her, preventing her escape. He lets out another snarl, and the knife presses deeper into her skin. 

“Not so fast, human,” A’Nokk snaps. 

Jen feels a drop of blood trickle down her neck and grows still, eyes finding Spock’s. 

 _I’m fine,_ she tries to convey. Well. Her head is throbbing and her arms hurt where they’re twisted behind her and her throat is not feeling all that hot, but she’s alive. The rest is details. 

Clearly, though, Spock doesn’t agree with her on that score, or else she looks worse than she feels. 

Spock steps forward. 

“You have stated your grievance, and it is with me,” he says, addressing A’Nokk. “Your use of Captain Kirk as a hostage has been effective enough to lead me here, but now it is unnecessary. Release her, and you may engage me in honorable combat.” 

“Mongrels such as you possess no honor,” A’Nokk spits out, and murmurs sweep through the audience. Apparently this insult is grave enough to draw response even from the impassive Vulcans. “You have killed my mate as good as with your bare hands, and you expect that I shall let yours go? You will experience the pain of seeing her die before your eyes, like I did with—” 

“A’Nokk, this is enough!” Sarek intervenes with a frown. “You bring dishonor onto your family’s name by seeking revenge in this manner. You will not be accepted among our people if you carry out this heinous act.” 

“And yet they accept the half-blood Spock, who is complicit in our destruction!” Jen’s captor barks, and the knife at her throat presses imperceptibly closer. Jen tries not to breathe. 

“Captain Kirk has acted in defence of our people, risking her own life to aid us,” Spock says, and takes another step nearer. “You achieve nothing by repaying her with—” 

“You shall suffer,” A’Nokk hisses _._ “Like I suffered.” 

Instinct tells Jen that the time for talking has run out. She puts all of her strength into throwing herself sideways and away, _away_ from the knife even as A’Nokk makes to slash at her. She manages to raise an arm to defend from the blade, and cries out as the flesh splits open, warm blood gushing out of the wound. A split second later, Spock’s body barrels into them, and Jen is knocked to the side, landing on her knees and gasping from pain and shock. 

Spock and A’Nokk are already locked in a fight on the floor; A’Nokk has a knife, and Spock is unarmed, but he’s holding his own. 

Jen takes shuddering breaths and staggers to her feet just as Sarek approaches her. 

“Captain Kirk. You are in pain,” Sarek points out, in Standard, gesturing to her arm. Which, no shit, she’s dripping blood onto the floor. “Can I offer assistance?” 

“It’s fine, I—” Jen makes herself tear her eyes away from the deadly wrestling match two feet away. “Come on, do something! Help him!” 

Sarek’s expression is solemn. “Spock must win this challenge alone.” 

Goddamn Vulcans with their goddamn mores and their archaic rituals. 

Left-handed, Jen fishes out her communicator and is about to call for backup—or jump into the fight herself, for all the good it’ll do—but Spock chooses this moment to deliver the coup de grâce. He flips A’Nokk over, shoving him hard, and the other Vulcan’s head meets the floor with a sickening crunch. 

For a moment, nobody moves. A’Nokk is prone on the floor, his eyes closed and a pool of blood growing next to his left ear. 

Spock is leaning over him and breathing heavily. His arms are bloodied and his shirt has been cut through in several places, but— 

He’s _okay,_ and Jen blows out a breath. 

“Spock.” She steps forward, and he raises his head to meet her eyes. Emotion is swirling in them, too close to the surface—she can see anger, and fear, and an odd kind of desperation. She reaches out with her uninjured arm and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Is he—dead, or—” 

Spock’s eyes drift shut for a second and he shakes his head _no._ Then he makes a visible effort to focus on her. When he takes her in, he frowns and gets up with surprising grace. “You’re injured.” 

“It’s fine.” Jen tries for a smile. 

“You are not fine.” Spock’s hands grip her forearms. “You require immediate medical attention.” He looks somewhere beyond her. “Father—” 

Jen blinks and becomes aware of their audience. Sarek looks relieved, or at least he seems much less tense than before. 

“Spock. You have fought with honor,” he concludes. 

Straight afterwards, there is chaos. Jen wants to deal with the man who attacked her and, unless she’s wrong, has also been attacking her ship; Spock insists that she must get immediate medical attention; Sarek tries to command his people to do stuff. 

“Balor, T’Preea, please secure him,” Sarek says, nodding at A’Nokk, and two young Vulcans step forward to do as bid. “Sakkhet, if you would—” 

“Hey, sorry to interrupt, Ambassador, but what exactly are you planning to do with him?” Jen asks, letting some steel infuse her voice. 

 _She’s_ the captain, and this is her ship. There can only be one source of authority onboard. 

“This man has committed a crime,” Jen continues, more softly, even as the assembled Vulcans stare at her in silence. “Under normal circumstances, he ought to be handed over to the ship’s security and confined to the brig.” She ignores the bristling she can practically _feel_ coming off the crowd, impassive facades notwithstanding. “But, out of respect to you and your customs, I am willing to listen to your views on this.” 

Spock is a stiff presence by Jen’s side, but he’s not contradicting her. This tells Jen that she has his support, which makes her feel a little more confident about facing down his father and a bunch of other Vulcan elders. 

She’s aware that this is a sensitive situation. The Vulcans are intensely private, and jailing one of theirs in the brig would inevitably mean dragging this whole ugly affair out into the open. Which… well, she’ll have to file a report on it, obviously, but maybe the Vulcans don’t need the whole ship whispering about them even more than they do now. On the other hand, it’s not like Jen can leave a criminal on the loose. 

Sarek considers Jen carefully and then inclines his head. “With your permission, Captain, we would like to confine A’Nokk to secure quarters and give him the attention of a healer. After this, we would have him face trial among our people.” Sarek’s expression grows stern. “We are an endangered race, and there are not many of us left, but we cannot allow that to serve as a cause for lawlessness.” 

Jen doesn’t know if this last was said for her benefit or for the audience; either way, there’s a bit of a stir at this, but she doesn’t look away from Sarek. 

“I understand,” she says. “I would like to see proof that you can contain him.” 

“Your request is logical,” Sarek says. “Please come with me, Captain Kirk, and I will demonstrate what I had in mind.” 

“With all due respect, that can wait until the captain has received treatment for her wound,” Spock interjects, firm. 

“Spock, I’m fine,” Jen says. Her arm is hurting like a bitch, and yes it’s still bleeding, but on past occasions Jen’s done far more with much greater injuries. 

“You are losing blood,” Spock counters. He’s wearing his most obstinate expression, one that means that people had better do what he says, or someone’s about to get marooned on an ice planet. “It is illogical to aggravate your injury.” 

“Here.” A young female Vulcan steps forward. “I have basic medical training. I can provide first aid.” 

A’Nokk is still out cold with another Vulcan hovering by, Sarek is waiting politely in the wings, and a fat drop of blood goes _plop_ from Jen’s arm and onto the floor. 

“Fine.” Jen sighs. “Secure him—” She waves at A’Nokk. “—and, while I get patched up, please prepare the room where you would want to hold him. I’ll inspect it as soon as I’m done, and then we’ll see if he stays.” 

“Very well,” Sarek agrees, and sends out his minions to do his bidding. 

So far, he’s the only one of the Vulcan elders who has directly spoken to Jen. Maybe he’s high-ranking enough to speak for them all; maybe the others don’t want to lower themselves to Jen’s level. Who the fuck knows. 

The antiseptic stings on Jen’s arm, and she winces when the Vulcan lady—T’Preea—bandages her arm tightly. Spock’s still hovering next to Jen, as if he’s unwilling to let her out of his sight. 

And Jen hates doing this, hates putting Spock between the crew and the Vulcans on this ship, but— 

“What do you think?” she asks him in an undertone. “Should we leave him here, will it be enough?” 

Spock watches as some of his compatriots tie A’Nokk’s body up. 

“I believe that my people have a vested interest in restoring order in the community,” he says, quiet. “I also think that outsiders cannot comprehend the depth of A’Nokk’s betrayal, or the tragedy that befell him.” 

Jen has very little to say to that. 

*** 

Soon afterwards, Sarek takes her to the room proposed as A’Nokk’s cell, talks to her about guards on his door, describes additional measures. Jen nods through it, suddenly more secure in the thought that, if nothing else, Sarek’s got a vested interest in making sure A’Nokk doesn’t escape to harm Spock again. She can trust his assurances that far. 

Now that the adrenaline has worn off, Jen has to fight to stay on her feet as exhaustion hits. But there is still stuff to be done, explanations to be obtained. 

“Perhaps we can sit down,” Sarek suggests, leading her and Spock back to the conference room, now miraculously empty of people. “Would you be amenable to a cup of tea?” 

Jen agrees just to be polite, and, as she takes the first breath of the fumes, she’s not expecting the familiarity of it to kick her in the gut. 

This is the tea Spock used to drink during those long nights they spent holed up in his rooms. The tea he’s made her drink, once, drawing his eyebrows and insisting she take a break from coffee. She’d made a face, scoffed at the flavor, and now it tastes like comfort, companionship, _home._  

“Captain?” Spock asks, still quiet, still concerned. 

“I’m fine.” Jen musters up a smile. “It’s just… hot.” 

Sarek watches them calmly from the other side of the table. He gives them a few more moments of simply sitting there and sipping tea before he starts making his apologies. 

“Tonight’s events were the result of an unforgivable lapse on our part,” he says. “We noticed A’Nokk’s withdrawn mood, but we did not realize the extent of his madness.” 

Jen nods, slanting a glance Spock’s way. 

“I’m assuming, then, that he really was the one attacking the crew? Were all of those attacks aimed at Spock? Did he just not care who died in the crossfire?” 

The puzzle pieces gradually fit together to form a complete picture. A’Nokk has been moody, but, considering the number of distressed individuals around, nobody paid him particular heed. Meanwhile, in his fevered brain, a plan to kill Spock was hatching. Being a security expert himself, and gifted with high intelligence, he had no particular problem running circles around Jen’s overworked crew and stealing some schematics to help him navigate the craft through Jefferies tubes. 

“But,” Jen says, adjusting her arm with a wince, “he can’t seriously hold Spock responsible for what happened. It’s—it’s the height of illogical.” 

Sarek looks, if anything, even more grave than usual. “The pain of a broken bond is a terrible thing to experience. It can… cause a temporary lapse in judgement, or even drive one of our people into permanent loss of reason.” 

Belatedly, Jen remembers that Sarek, too, is going through the same thing. As is, probably, every single Vulcan currently onboard. She recalls Spock nearly killing her on the bridge, and represses a shudder. 

“I’m sure our medical specialists would be willing to provide whatever counseling they can,” she suggests cautiously. 

Spock sits tense and silent, but Sarek tilts his head in acknowledgement. “I thank you for your repeated offer, Captain Kirk, but this is a trauma only Vulcan healers can hope to ease.” He pauses for a few beats and takes a measured sip of tea. “The forging of new bonds, too, will help, which is why it is essential for us to draw together in this time of crisis, instead of spreading seeds of dissent…” 

Jen lowers her eyes and wonders, with a sudden chill, whether A’Nokk is the only one holding Spock responsible for their misfortunes. 

Does anyone else share A’Nokks views? Would they have forgiven A’Nokk if he’d killed Spock in combat? 

She has to believe that the answer is _no,_ because Sarek is right; the other way lies madness. 

“Father, if our business here is concluded, I shall escort the captain to sickbay,” Spock says, once they seem to have covered all the pertinent topics. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Jen tells Spock. “I can make it there on my own. You should stay here, with—” _Your people, your father, those who need to give you as much reassurance as possible right now._  

But Spock’s brows are knit in a familiar frown, and Jen knows him well enough to tell that she’s not winning this argument. 

“Oh, fine,” she mutters. “If you really want to babysit me, then come along. Good night, Ambassador.” 

*** 

Nurse Chapel greets Jen and Spock in med bay, since Bones appears to have been reasonable for once and retired for the night. Chapel clucks over their injuries in evident shock, but doesn’t ask any questions, for which Jen is thankful. She’s not sure she can stand rehashing the story of what’s happened, not tonight. 

She’s got mere hours till the alpha shift, and she can already taste all the coffee she’s going to have to drink to keep afloat tomorrow. 

“Captain, I would have preferred to keep you here overnight,” Chapel says. “But there are no free beds available, and you _are_ mobile, even if your vitals are... not looking as good as they should. I’m going to discharge you, but I will ask you to come here tomorrow for a checkup. Also, I urge you to have a lot of rest, and nothing but light duties.” 

“Of course,” Jen promises with a straight face. 

Her arm tingles, but the wound has closed, and it’s only looking pink now. Sadly, Chapel hasn’t given Jen a cure for _too much to do, too little time._  

Spock’s also had a date with the dermal regenerator and he no longer looks beat up, just exhausted. He waits until Jen is finished and they walk out of the infirmary together, their steps echoing slightly in the quiet air. 

Once all of this is over, Jen will book herself a holiday and sleep for a month. Or two. 

Jen doesn’t realize that she’s automatically followed Spock to his quarters until they’re already inside, and the door is sliding shut behind them. 

Then she looks around and remembers that, wait, she shouldn’t be here, _we don’t do this anymore._  

She turns to voice this thought to Spock, but checks herself when she catches sight of him. 

He’s standing still in the middle of the room, looking blank. And not in a good way. 

“It’s bullshit, you know, what A’Nokk said,” Jen says, surprising herself—and Spock, too, judging by his flinch. But she pushes on, because this is important. “None of it was your fault. Nero was fucked in the head. It had nothing to do with you.” 

Spock doesn’t turn to meet Jen’s eyes. “And yet, Nero addressed me, specifically, when he hailed the Enterprise. A Vulcan shuttle manufactured in the future and stored on the Narada recognized my face and voice. This is hardly coincidental.” 

Fuck. If there’s ever a time to mention the elder Spock, it’s now, except that it might cause a world-ending temporal paradox, and Jen’s not adding that on her list of things to clean up. 

She steps up to Spock and lays a hand on his arm. 

“Nero was from the future, and an alternate-dimension future at that. Whatever he thought you’ve done, you’ve had no chance to do, and even then he probably blew it out of proportion because he needed someone to blame. Just like A’Nokk tonight.” She lets out a breath. “You’ve helped to save the Earth and the Federation, Spock, and you’ve single-handedly rescued the Vulcan elders. You’ve done more than anyone else for the preservation of Vulcan culture. I’d say your balance sheet looks pretty good.” 

Spock gives a sound that, from another person, may have been an amused huff. “Thank you for that vote of confidence, Captain.” 

He turns towards her and she gives him a small smile. His eyes roam over her face, looking for something or reassuring himself of her sincerity—she honestly doesn’t know, can’t read him that well. 

“Thank you,” Spock repeats, serious this time. 

If this was Bones, Jen would hug him. But this is Spock, and he’d probably be more freaked out than comforted by the experience. 

Jen settles for nodding and momentarily tightening her hand on his arm before she lets it fall away. 

They step away from each other, and that’s it, the spell of earnestness has worn off. 

“Right,” Jen says and checks the time. “It’s… Jesus, way past our bedtime. I’ll, ah, just leave you then, and—” 

“Please feel free to stay,” Spock says. His voice catches oddly on the _please_. 

Jen closes her eyes. 

She shouldn’t be here. She knows this, and Spock knows this too. She has quarters of her own now, and— 

Spock will never actually request help, not any more openly than this. 

“Don’t you want to sleep?” Jen asks. 

“I shall meditate,” Spock says. When Jen opens her eyes again, it’s to see him holding himself still, like he’s waiting for her decision. 

Like there’s a decision left for her to make. 

“Alright, then,” Jen says. 

Spock’s shoulders loosen slightly, and— 

Jen hopes that everything will make more sense when she wakes up. 

*** 

The fucked up part is, Jen sleeps really well for the first time in days. 

She has to drag herself out of bed far too early, of course, and she curses and stumbles her way towards coffee like pretty much any other morning, but last night she closed her eyes and drifted off immediately—no nagging thoughts, no nightmares. Which is really crap, because until now, Jen’s been really good at not noticing that her sleeping problems started pretty much when her association with Spock’s quarters came to an end. 

Denial is going to take more effort from this point on, but it’s that or acknowledging a— 

Jen doesn’t even know what. A bizarre kind of codependence, maybe. They’ll never know, because Jen will never think about this. 

“You will have time for breakfast if you hurry,” Spock informs her from where he’s sitting by the computer terminal. 

Overnight, he seems to have pulled himself back together. Perhaps the meditation helped, or perhaps something else, but, looking at him now, you’d never guess that he’s spent half the night mired in violence and emotional turmoil. 

“I’ll jus’ have coffee,” Jen mumbles, draining the rest of her cup in one gulp. 

“Caffeine is not a substitute for a balanced—” 

Jen shuts the bathroom door on the rest of his sentence. 

When they get to the bridge, Sulu reports that they’re still on course for Starbase 411, and Scotty has yet to blow up the ship. This is good news, and Jen takes heart in that when she faces the unpleasant task of sketching out a report of last night’s events for the brass. 

She keeps it brief: a rogue Vulcan, threat neutralized, Vulcans negotiated with. She quietly hopes that the incident will not cause a diplomatic hiccup for Earth and the Vulcans; from what she understands of the general political situation out there, their relationship is being put to a true test right now, and the Enterprise doesn’t need to get in the middle of that. 

The report sent, Jen calls security with the information the attacker has been apprehended. 

“Apprehended by whom, Captain?” Commander Giotto asks, deep suspicion in his voice. 

“By the Vulcans,” Jen says calmly. “And they have requested leave to remand him in their custody.” 

“Captain,” Giotto says immediately, “it is my job to make sure that—” 

“Indeed it is, Commander,” Jen agrees. “Which is why you will inspect the conditions in which the criminal is held, and report to me if you find any deficiencies. Ambassador Sarek will be expecting you.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Giotto says, and in her mind’s eye Jen can just see him snapping to attention. 

When she ends the call and looks around the bridge, she finds all eyes trained upon her. All but Spock’s, that is. 

“Captain, so the person behind the attacks—that was a Vulcan?” Sulu asks. 

Jen throws a glance at Spock. He’s now frowning at Sulu, but, as if feeling the weight of Jen’s gaze, he looks over at her. She raises her eyebrows, like, _do you want to talk about it or shall I?_  

Spock draws himself up and his tone is perfectly flat when he says: 

“The attacks were perpetrated by a mentally unstable individual. He is now under close watch.” 

Uhura’s eyes are bright and sympathetic in her face as she looks at Spock. Several other people are sporting pitying expressions, because— 

Well, that’s what people do about Vulcans these days, isn’t it. 

Spock’s spine stiffens under the scrutiny, staying that way even after he returns his attention to his console. 

Jen clears her throat. 

“That’s all that needs to be said about this for now,” she announces. “Lieutenant Legrine, Ensign Chekov has left some notes for you, I’m not sure when you’d like to read them. Ensign Abuala, please send me those star charts. Mr. Sulu—” 

“Aye, aye, Captain,” comes from several sides, and Jen sits back in her chair, satisfied. 

She pays a visit to engineering an hour later and ends up staying to help, again. She puts Spock in charge of the bridge and does her paperwork from the power distribution observation lounge, simultaneously keeping a close eye on the controls. 

Jen is so busy all day that she forgets to worry about Bones. 

This proves to be a mistake. 

Bones comms her a couple of hours after the alpha shift is officially over and hisses into her ear until she agrees to come see him immediately, or else _god help me Jen, I’ll hunt you down right where you are._  

Doesn’t sound like a good plan. 

So, med bay. 

“Jesus Christ on a stick, Jen,” Bones growls, grabbing a tricorder. “I leave you alone for a couple of goddamn days, and you get knifed? Show me your arm.” 

“Oh come on, my injury’s so twelve hours ago,” Jen says, nonetheless submitting to his ministrations. 

Bones just scowls at her and scans the pink scar on her arm. “How did you get this?” 

“How do you think? There was a guy, with a knife, but it was totally nothing personal—” 

Bones glares until she caves and tells him the story. Except, of course, that doesn’t make him happy either, because there’s no good way to phrase _the guy was actually after Spock, and only wanted me dead because he thought it might make Spock feel bad._  

“Let me get this straight,” Bones says incredulously. “The Vulcans have been reading the gossip mags?” 

“How the hell should I know?” Jen shrugs. “But I have it on good authority that we’re the ‘it’ couple, Bones. Chances are, nobody has been spared the tale of our epic love.” 

At any rate, the Vulcans have clearly not got the memo on Jen and Spock’s recent attempts to stem the tide of rumors. 

Bones squints at her. “You sound awfully casual about this. Are you sure that you and he haven’t—” 

“Oh my god, Bones!” Jen throws up her hands. “I haven’t as much as _thought_ of sex, never mind had any since that guy back on Earth, what was his name—he of the nimble tongue—” 

“These are all things that I don’t need to know!” Bones says hastily, as if trying to stave off the mental images. 

It serves him right, the bastard. 

Bones shakes his head. “A new grey hair on my head for each day of knowing you, kid.” 

“Hey, you totally love me.” 

Bones just glares, again, because he’s got a limited repertoire of expressions. Or maybe that just applies to expressions used on Jen. 

“So.” Jen throws a glance toward the private ward just a little ways ahead, perfectly nonchalant-like. “How’s Pike? I thought I might visit him again.” 

Bones’s expression turns wary. “He’s stable.” 

“Stable.” 

“Yes, same as I told you last time, and the time before.” 

Jen nods. Bones _has_ told her that. It’s just that— 

“He’s been stable for a while.” 

“Yes, and it’s a good thing, Jen.” Bones squeezes her shoulder. “He’ll be fine. Now, if I can say the same about you, I’ll count it as an achievement. I’m thinking, just a quick vitamin booster—” 

“Oh, is that the time? Well, well! Would love to stay and chat, but I’m a super-important starship captain, so—” 

“Dammit, Jen!” 

Jen throws a grin Bones’s way and darts towards Pike’s ward. 

*** 

That very evening, Admiral Komack contacts Jen for an explanation of the Vulcan attacker deal. 

He seems satisfied with what Jen tells him, though; apparently, since the Enterprise is carrying all of Vulcan’s most important elders, it’s more or less the centre of Vulcan authority at the moment, and if Jen has diffused the situation with them, nobody’s going to poke at it too much. 

“Onto other matters,” Komack announces. “You will be arriving at Starbase 411 in two days, is that correct?” 

“Yes, sir,” Jen says. 

Assuming, as always, that they don’t blow up until then. But that would be an unwise caveat to add. 

“Proceed to Earth immediately as soon as your ship is warp-ready,” the admiral commands. 

Jen grits her teeth. “Sir, I planned on giving my crew a day’s worth of rest at the outpost.” 

“Well, you’ll have to make new plans then, won’t you?” Komack glares at her from the screen. “You have your orders, Kirk. Waste no time at the starbase and get to Earth as soon as the ship can make it there.” 

Jen entertains the thought of deliberately stalling the repairs just to spite him, but the look on his face lets her know he’s seeing right through that idea. 

“Sir,” Jen says instead, “we will hardly make the best impression if we limp to Earth exhausted and—” 

“You have your orders,” Komack says, and signs off. 

Jen glares at the dark screen of her PADD. 

Oh, she gets it. The press have been getting antsy in the Enterprise’s continued absence. They’re beginning to wonder if something is wrong, if this ship, too, is not going to make it, if the heroes will prove to have clay feet. Starfleet needs them there, and fast. 

Never mind that just getting to the space station is an exercise in holding one’s breath. 

Jen suppresses the urge to break something and reaches for her communicator. 

“Spock,” she says. “Komack’s just called. We’re going to have to speed things up at Starbase 411.” 

Spock takes the news with his usual stoicism, though Jen does detect a hint of disapproval. 

“I shall liaise with the space station,” Spock says, offers really, since both he and Jen kind of hate interacting with bureaucrats, but he’s better at the meticulous sort of detail. 

“Thanks, Spock,” Jen sighs. 

Two people so disinclined to tolerate official stupidity should probably not be in command of a constitution class starship, but then, it’s not like they’ll be in this spot for much longer. If all goes well, two more days, and Jen’s no longer Acting Captain Kirk.

It’s odd how little relief that thought brings. 

“Captain,” Spock says. “You should also know that my father has requested to speak with you at your convenience.” 

Jen tenses up. “Is anything wrong? Is it A’Nokk?” 

“I do not believe so, for my father raised no such concerns when we conversed today,” Spock says. “However, I too cannot conceive of another reason why he might ask for a meeting.” 

“Did it sound urgent?” she asks. 

Spock seems to experience a moment’s hesitation. “That was not my impression.” 

Right. Jen sighs, looks at the time and decides that, in any case, Sarek is going to have to wait till tomorrow. 

But tomorrow, Sarek ends up waiting till after lunch anyway, because the time before that is filled with reports, communiqués from Starfleet and, yes, more reports. 

And coffee. Lots of coffee. 

“Captain Kirk,” Sarek says when Jen gets to him at last. “I thank you for this opportunity to converse with you.” 

Jen assures him that it’s no big deal, and they engage in no more courtesies before Sarek leads her to the same conference room as before and plunges right into the heart of the matter. 

“I shall be frank with you, Captain Kirk,” he says, watching her with fathomless eyes. “I wish to issue you with a warning. There may come a time quite soon when my son will ask you to perform a melding of minds with him. It is imperative that you refuse.” 

Jen stares. 

She’d expected A’Nokk, security issues, Vulcans-related concerns. 

Not this. 

“I’m sorry, Ambassador,” she says at last. “But I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“Like many others onboard this ship, Spock has lost vital familial bonds. The loss of a link with his mother, in particular, no doubt pains him greatly,” Sarek says. “A meld formed under these circumstances may result in the unwitting forging of a bond which will not be easy to break.”

Jen raises her hands before Sarek can go on. “Ambassador, I… appreciate your concern, but all this sounds way personal, and I’m not sure why you are telling me this?”

Sarek regards her steadily.

“As the person to whom my son holds a romantic attachment, you are most likely to be the one he—” 

“Oh!” Jen says. “Uh, sorry, I’m interrupting, but no! We aren’t—like that.”

Just the idea of Sarek thinking that has her wincing, because, _Jesus,_ what the actual fuck.

“Only a day ago, A’Nokk pronounced you to be Spock’s mate, and you said nothing to refute it,” Sarek says, giving her a keen look.

Jen very nearly windmills her arms at this.

“We didn’t—I didn’t think it was relevant, I thought it was obvious that we aren’t—”

The truth is, she hadn’t even thought of setting the record straight; she’d just dismissed the allegation as unimportant. Maybe Bones is right, maybe she’s grown a bit too blasé about the gossip.

“Spock and I are not together,” Jen says, very emphatically.

Distantly, she realizes that this situation would be hysterically funny if it weren’t also leaving deeper scars on her psyche with every passing moment.

Sarek just watches her. Jen’s got to give it to the man, he’s handling her emotionalism fairly well. But then, he’s built a career out of dealing with humans.

“My son has shed blood in your name,” Sarek says, grave.

Thing is, it’s also glaringly clear that Sarek doesn’t know about Uhura. Jen’s not sure what she’s supposed to do about that. Redirect his attention there? But then, presumably, if Spock wanted Sarek to know, he would have told him.

Damn it.

Jen focuses on the matter at hand.

“I hate to remind you of this, Ambassador, but Spock has once tried to shed _my_ blood, too.”

“Indeed,” Sarek agrees. “I have met you very few times, Captain Kirk, but on those occasions I witnessed my son losing his composure in your presence.”

Jen shakes her head. “Ambassador, I think it’s logical to assume that his loss of composure has little to do with me, and a lot with the difficult time he’s going through.”

“And yet, even in these dire circumstances, my son retains proper control over his emotions except when you are concerned.” Sarek’s face is blank.

Jen gives him a razor-edged smile. All this subtle criticism of Spock and feelings is getting a bit old.

“Spock was severely provoked on both occasions you’re referring to, Ambassador. I wouldn’t hold it against him.”

Sarek just regards her, again.

“Fascinating,” is all he says.

Jen clenches her jaw and counts to ten.

“You’re giving me the _be careful with my son_ speech, aren’t you?” she asks, blunt. “Ambassador, I’m being honest here. Your worry is misplaced. I am not Spock’s romantic partner. He’s not in danger of accidentally bonding with me.”

A moment passes in absolute silence.

“Very well,” Sarek says then, inclining his head. “I thank you, Captain Kirk. This discussion has been most educational.”

For Sarek, maybe; Jen’s just got a giant headache to show for it.

Plus, there’s absolutely no way around the fact that she’ll have to talk to Spock about all of this.

Because, clearly, they need more relationship conversations in their lives.

***

When Jen returns to the bridge, it’s to find out that Scotty’s team has accidentally cut the power to the transporters. This is very much the wrong timing for this, because they’re arriving on base goddamn tomorrow, and why can’t they just have nice things?

“Chekov, do you guys need me down there?” Jen asks, resigned. 

“I’ll, uh, I think probably not, Keptin,” Chekov hedges. He sounds so shifty that Jen is sure he’s actually trying to spare her the extent of their problems.

Well, there’s an easy way to check.

Jen makes her voice harden a bit. “Do you want me to send _Spock_ down there?”

“Nyet!” Chekov chokes out immediately, and Jen is glad they’re having this conversation over a comm line; she doesn’t have to see the kid’s puppy eyes. “Um, Keptin, no it’s—uh, it’s okay, Mr. Scott says that we have this, ah, covered.” 

“Well, keep me in the loop,” Jen says, and mercifully leaves it at that.

May as well give her engineers a chance to sort it out, whatever it is.

Spock curves an eyebrow at her, like he’s questioning the wisdom of this strategy. Jen beams sunnily at him.

Spock doesn’t yet know what Jen has to say to him as regards his father’s wishes.

As if he’s reading her mind—or maybe just remembering where she’s recently been—Spock cocks his head to the side.

“Captain. If I may inquire, was your conversation with my father satisfactory?” he asks.

“Oh yeah,” Jen says, full of dark meaning. “And by the way, you and I? Will need to talk.”

Spock blinks at her, clearly thrown by her tone, and the rest of the bridge crew glances between them in interest.

It takes Jen a moment to realize that the exchange smacks heavily of a relationship fight with a side dish of parental disapproval. She grimaces and wishes there was a way to take it back, but it’s too late—Sulu looks amused, Lieutenant Legrine is visibly storing this bit of gossip to share with the others later, and even Uhura appears somewhat bewildered.

Jen’s life is an actual soap opera. _In space._

The transporters are still fucked when the alpha shift ends, so Jen heads straight down to engineering. Spock comes along, and they’re stuck fiddling with wires and scratching their heads over equations for quite a while. This does not leave a lot of room for relationship discussions, but luckily the conversation is not urgent, and it easily waits until afterwards, when Spock and Jen are both in the turbolift at an ungodly hour in the morning.

“My father,” Spock reminds Jen out of the blue. “Earlier, you said you would need to speak to me of what he said.”

Jen sighs and takes a page out of Uhura’s book, jamming the lift where it is.

May as well have this out now. Not like there’s ever a truly convenient time.

“Your father,” she says, “wanted me to promise him that you and I won’t get married anytime soon.”

The look on Spock’s face is almost worth the talk Jen had with Sarek.

“Did my father explain what prompted that extraordinary request?” Spock asks, staring at Jen.

Jen wishes they’d had this conversation earlier, when she wasn’t yet so tired and could have taken pleasure in the absurdity of it all.

As it is, she just leans against the wall and sighs again.

“Look, he thought we were dating.” 

Spock’s expression freezes at once, in a way that Jen can’t read at all. Jen hurries to explain, in case this will reassure him:

“It’s just, the rumors got to him, I guess? I don’t know, whatever, he wasn’t… we didn’t… it wasn’t mostly about that. But, anyway, the point is that he thought we were together, and so he tried talking to me. Because he’s, ah. Worried. About you. I guess.”

This only has Spock stiffening up even more. “My father has expressed worry about my mental state.”

Jen blinks. “Well—no, I mean, he just said that you might be feeling a bit off-balance, what with the… everything, and so he felt the need to warn me not to dive into any mind melds with you, because that might, y’know.” Jen shifts uncomfortably. “I’m not going to say I understand the mechanics of it all, but he said it might produce, like, a bond, by accident, and—he basically gave me a safety lecture. I think.” She chances a glance at Spock.

He seems to have gone into a total shutdown, his face exactly the blank mask of Vulcan-ness Sarek would no doubt be proud of.

“In expressing his concern, has my father indicated that he believes me liable to lose my composure the way A’Nokk—”

“No!” Jen says, straightening up. “No, what are you—Spock, come on. That’s not what he meant.”

“His concern—” Spock begins, but Jen heads that one off right at the pass:

“He’s just worried about you, okay? It doesn’t mean that he doesn’t trust you or something. Sometimes people just worry about other people because they love them.”

Spock looks away at that.

“Anyway,” Jen says after a moment. “I’ve obviously let him know that he doesn’t have to lose sleep over us. But I’m telling you what he told me, because that warning wasn’t intended for me. It’s far more relevant for you and Uhura. So I had to tell you.”

Spock nods—a quick, terse movement. “I understand.”

God, all of this is so none of her business, but Sarek’s made it her business, and Jen can’t not wonder. “Your father doesn’t know you’re dating Uhura.”

Spock intently regards the buttons on the turbolift wall.

“My father and I have not always… enjoyed a close relationship,” is all he says.

Jen could write an encyclopedia on difficult family dynamics, so she interprets that pause without a problem.

But still.

“I doubt he would object to Uhura,” Jen says, cautiously. “Who would, right? I mean, he even seemed fairly resigned to _me.”_ A thought occurs to her, and she twists her mouth in a crooked smile. “Unless his warning was actually an attempt to ensure that he doesn’t get saddled with me as a daughter-in-law.”

Spock looks at her again, and there’s the eyebrow she’s been missing all this time. “I sincerely doubt that, Captain.”

“You never know.” Jen rolls her eyes. “You have no idea what lengths parental units have previously gone to just to make sure I don’t ruin their offspring’s future.”

Spock shoots her a sharp glance at that, but Jen just smirks and restarts the turbolift.

The soap opera portion of the day is so over.

“If all goes well, we’re docking at the starbase in nine hours, Spock,” Jen says quietly, as decks whoosh by. “Hard to believe, isn’t it?”

Spock doesn’t say yes; of course he doesn’t. But he doesn’t take issue with Jen’s wording, either, so Jen thinks he knows exactly what she means.

***

When Starbase 411 comes up on the viewscreen, a collective sigh goes around the bridge.

They’re so close.

Jen smiles, grimly determined. She’s not ready to celebrate until they’ve got a functioning warp core and are heading straight for Earth, but this—this has been their goal for a while now. This means safety. This means a chance to actually get home.

Sulu, too, is tense at the controls, like he’s afraid he’ll somehow fuck up at the last moment. Like he’s not the awesome pilot that got them out of all the scrapes so far.

“Steady on, Mr. Sulu,” Jen says. “You’re doing fine.”

He nods, but doesn’t take his eyes away from his work. As well he shouldn’t.

“Scotty, give me our status,” Jen says, pressing a button on her comm.

“Impulse engines at 162 percent capacity,” Scotty tells her, as if these numbers make any sense under normal circumstances. “We’re keeping a close eye on things here, Captain.”

“Good,” Jen says.

Spock is monitoring the ship’s figures from his station as well, Jen is aware. He doesn’t look like he has anything to add, so Jen just tries not to expire of nervous anticipation as Sulu guides the ship increasingly closer to safety.

Finally, it’s time.

“Lieutenant Uhura, hail the starbase,” Jen commands.

“Yes, Captain.” Uhura’s fingers fly over her console. “I’ve got the connection.”

Jen presses a button on her chair.

“This is Captain Jennifer T. Kirk of the U.S.S. Enterprise. Requesting permission to dock.”

Base Commander Gurakuqi responds with a greeting of his own.

They are, of course, expected. The exchange is but a formality, and then—

Then they’re locking in.

For a moment after the ship has come to a full stop, nobody moves.

Jen, for her part, doesn’t even _breathe_.

“My god,” Sulu says reverently. “We’ve actually made it.”

This is where everyone loses it a little, and even Spock glances over at Jen with an expression bordering on relieved.

It’s when their eyes meet that it actually hits Jen that yes, Jesus, they’ve done it, they’ve come this far. She finds herself smiling widely—so much that she probably looks demented.

“Lieutenant Legrine. Do you want to make the ship-wide announcement?”

“Yes, ma’am!” The navigator sits up in her chair. “Attention all decks…”

From that point, it’s a flurry of movement, transporters prepared for beamdown and Scotty all but bouncing in the expectation of a fresh warp core.

The base gleams large and solid around them, and for all that it’s not Earth, it’s the first direct contact anyone from the Enterprise has had with the outside world since the battle. Jen inhales this other, foreign air, stares at faces of people she doesn’t know, hasn’t passed in the corridors of her ship.

She’s lightheaded for a moment, swept up both by exhaustion and the disbelief at being here, at last, of being anywhere but the vessel she has fused her soul to over the past fortnight.

Commander Gurakuqi comes out to greet Jen and Spock, and his tentacles quiver as he watches them approach.

“Captain Kirk,” he says, four eyes fixed on her face while the fifth one sneaks a peek at Spock. “Commander Spock. It is an honor to have you here.”

Jen tenses at the attention he’s giving them when she realizes that it’s not respect in his eyes; it’s star-struck wonder at meeting the Narada heroes in the flesh.

 _What we’re dealing with now is nothing,_ Uhura had said. _When we get to that starbase—_

“Commander.” Jen wills her voice to sound even. “It’s good to be here.”

“Please, come along,” Gurakuqi says, gesturing for her and Spock to follow.

There are urgently needed supplies to approve, forms to sign, information to share.

Jen and Spock have planned this all out: she’ll deal with the official side of things while Spock oversees the delivery of the requested items onto the ship. Then, their very capable crew will get shit done without too much bureaucratic interference. Hopefully.

“USS Enterprise looks sorely in need of repairs,” Gurakuqi says as they walk, softening the words with a smile. “Captain Kirk, you are certain you wish to depart immediately once the core is replaced?”

“We have our orders,” Jen says, bland.

“And the ship will withstand the journey, and the additional pressure of speed?” There is no censure in Gurakuqi’s voice, only mild curiosity, and so Jen doesn’t go on the defensive, saying only:

“So my chief engineer tells me.”

“Ah, yes, your CEO.” Gurakuqi leads them through a series of corridors and into a wide, oval-shaped room with large windows. Jen can see the Enterprise from here, and something in her relaxes slightly. “My officers have been in communication with Mr. Scott. I believe he did not originally hold the post?”

That’s putting it mildly, given that Jen—spurred on by old Spock—fished Scotty out of the winter wasteland of Delta Vega and appointed him CEO in the same breath.

Jen gives the base commander a tight smile. “I was not the original choice for a captain, either.”

Spock makes an uncomfortable movement at that, as if worried where this reminiscing might take them, but Gurakuqi only nods, solemn.

“Indeed. Times of crisis demand of us all that we rise to the occasion, and perhaps do more than our fair share in aid of the common goal.”

Jen blinks. Way to make them all sound unbearably noble.

“Commander,” Spock says, “if we could initiate the process of releasing the new warp core?”

“Certainly, certainly!” Gurakuqi says and reaches for one of the many PADDs strewn around the room. “I shall only need Captain Kirk’s signature over here. Now, have you heard of the recent movements by the Klingons?”

Jen stifles a sigh and exchanges glances with Spock. Good thing they’ve decided to divide their duties; it looks like Jen, at least, will be stuck diplomatically chit-chatting for a while.

***

The sky stretches out in front of Jen, an unfathomable expanse of inky blackness and glittering stars. She can see the base they’re docked at, too, but that’s just a tiny man-made blip on the intricate landscape.

Jen was born out there, in the black. She never found a home anywhere else.

This, the Enterprise, her softly vibrating engines, her corridors and the gentle luminescence of the surfaces on her bridge—it feels like home.

Jen shakes her head and leans against the back of the captain’s chair.

It’s only been two weeks. Two weeks of stress and sleep deprivation, of mystery assailants and failing engines, of zero warp power and too much coffee.

Two weeks of unexpected camaraderie, of having a team at her back, of _belonging_ somewhere, with someone, the way she never truly has before.

Jen closes her eyes.

This, here, was hers for this long. She’s had this. Whatever happens now, this feeling is hers to bear away.

“Captain?” There’s a sound of footfalls, and Spock’s shadow reaches Jen before he steps up to her chair.

When she looks at him, he’s surveying Jen and the empty bridge with a slight frown.

“Just… taking a moment,” Jen says, answering the unasked question. “Scotty says we’re operational, and everyone’s due back here in five. Everything alright on your end?”

Spock tilts his head to the side. “Affirmative, Captain.”

Jen snorts, because his formality is something she’s still not used to.

It’s something she might not have to get used to. Not like she’ll be a captain for much longer.

“Spock,” Jen says, sobered by the thought. “I—you know, in case I don’t have a chance to say it later, it’s been great working with you.”

Spock curves an eyebrow, as if to say _oh really, I seem to recall incidents to the contrary,_ and Jen can’t help but laugh.

“Yeah, okay, you drive me up the wall sometimes and you’re as stubborn as me and you need to seriously expand your tastes in food and drink. But you’re also the best First Officer anyone could want, and I—I’m glad I’ve gotten to know you.” Jen smiles, shrugs. “Not that I’m saying I know you super well now, I’m just—you know what I mean.”

Spock nods, a tiny twitch of his mouth betraying his amusement.

“I believe that I do, Captain. And I think I also ought to say that—” He hesitates. “—the reality of working with you has not abided by my expectations. I have learnt some valuable lessons.”

Jen grins. “Oh, that was practically effusive by your standards. Be careful, Spock, or I might swoon.” 

“I am certain that your constitution is strong enough to withstand this discussion,” Spock says dryly, and Jen laughs again.

Before she can reply in kind, she trips over the thought that she’ll _miss_ this, miss him and their budding friendship, but then—

She might not be his captain once this is over, and there might not be a ship for them to run, but the events of the Narada crisis have tied them irrevocably together the same way they have linked and branded this whole ship of survivors.

There’s a media circus out there, just waiting for them to get back. There’s the admiralty and the inevitable trial and an investigation into Jen and Spock’s actions. There’s—

There’s no more world where Jen Kirk was a cadet among many and Spock was an instructor she didn’t know and their respective orbits never overlapped. It still feels like they’re going back to that, back to the academy and the roles they used to occupy, but that cannot be; that world was destroyed in the blaze of Nero’s rage.

They can never go back to that, they can’t un-know each other, un-forge their legend. Whatever they’re going to be, it’s not what they were before.

Perhaps it’s a sign of how things have changed that Jen finds this comforting, a new constant amid the chaos.

“Spock—” she starts to say, but then there’s a commotion, and the rest of the bridge crew is spilling in at once, talking, laughing, joking between themselves.

Jen turns to face them and smiles as they greet her with _reporting for duty, Captain,_ and _Mr. Scott has sent me back here, Keptin!_

That last one is from Chekov, who looks delighted to be back on the bridge.

“Welcome back, Ensign,” Jen says, quirking a grin at him. She drops into her chair and presses a button. “Scotty, we good?”

“A damn sight better than we were before, Captain,” Scotty’s voice says, and there’s a pleased undertone to his lilting brogue. “Ready when you are.”

Sulu sits down at his console, and Uhura takes her place, all quiet efficiency. “Shall I make the announcement, Captain?”

“Certainly, Lieutenant.”

While Uhura talks into the ship-wide system, relaying the news of their imminent departure for Earth, Jen takes the time to look around the bridge, double-check for the last time that everyone’s at their positions, that they haven’t forgotten anything.

Jen’s eyes lock with Spock’s for a moment, and then she draws a deep breath. 

“Alright, then, Mr. Sulu,” she says. “Punch it.”


End file.
